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THE  LIFE  WORK  OF 

HENRI  RENE  GUY 
DE  MAUPASSANT 


f.a^ 


Embracing  """"^^^^^ 

ROMANCE.TRAVELCOMEDYSrVERSE.  "^ 

For  the  first  time  Complete  in 

Englisli. 

With  a  Critical  Preface  by 

PAUL  BOURGET 

of  tlie  Frencii  Academy 

and  an  Introduction  by 

Robert  Amot.M.A. 


ILLUSTRATED  FROM  ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS; 
BY  EMINENT  4  ' 

FRENCH  AND  AMERICAN  ARTISTS  1 


'J 


niE  ST.DUNSTAK  SOClETy 
Akron,  Ohio. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.arcliive.org/details/belamiorhistoryoOOmaup 


^/f^./,,y^,iy/;r/.mjy-y:  ifyi^,/?i;^. 


AFTHk    THE   ORIGINAL    DRAWING    RY    HHRIXNANl)    BAG 

Duroy  Siiic.  his  wife  seated  hy  Laroche-Mathieu,  both 

of  fhi'iu  ,jlin.t\i  hii.ien  behitiJ  u  grout'  '">■''  >''if*n<  '' 

See  page   179  I 


BEL    AMI 


OR 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  SCOUNDREL 

^    NOl^EL 

By 

GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


VOL.  VII. 


SAINT     DUNSTAN     SOCIETY 
Akron,   Ohio 


CerVMOMT.    1903.    BY 

M.    WALTER    DUNNE 
SmUr*d  «r  Statientri  Hall,  Lcnd»n 


B4(e 
Rob 

TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


PAGB 


Chapter  I. 

poverty     i 

Chapter  II. 

MADAME    FORESTIER 13 

Chapter  III. 

FIRST   ATTEMPTS 24 

Chapter  IV. 

DUROY   learns  SOMETHING 33 

Chapter  V. 

THE    first    intrigue 4I 

Chapter  VI. 

A  step  upward 61 

Chapter  VII. 

a  duel  with  an  end 76 

Chapter  VIII. 

death  and  a  proposal 87 

Chapter  IX. 

MARRIAGE I02 

Chapter  X. 

JEALOUSY 118 

Chapter  XI. 

MADAME  WALTER  TAKES  A  HAND    .   .   .   1 24 

(ix) 


X  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

Chapter  XII.  p^gb 

A    MEETING   AND   THE    RESULT 1 37 

Chapter  XIII. 

MADAME    MARELLE I46 

Chapter  XIV. 

THE   WILL 161 

Chapter  XV. 

SUZANNE 172 

Chapter  XVI. 

DIVORCE 187 

Chapter  XVII. 

THE    FINAL   PLOT I96 

Chapter  XVIII. 

ATTAINMENT 205 


YVETTE 
Chapter  I. 

THE    INITIATION   OF  SAVAL 3 

Chapter  II. 

BOUGIVAL    AND   LOVE 25 

Chapter  III. 

ENLIGHTENMENT '>6 

Chapter  IV. 

FROM    EMOTION   TO   PHILOSOPHY        ....         77 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


DUROY  SAW  HIS  WIFE  SEATED  BY  LAROCHE  MATHIEU, 
BOTH  OF  THEM  ALMOST  HIDDEN  BEHIND  A  GROUP 
OF  PALMS  " Frontispiece 

LEISURELY  THEY  DESCENDED  THE  STEPS  "      ....      212 


BEL-AM  I 


CHAPTER     I. 

Poverty 

FTER  changing  his  five-franc  piece 
Georges  Duroy  left  the  restau- 
rant. He  twisted  his  mustache 
in  mihtary  style  and  cast  a  rapid, 
sweeping  glance  upon  the  diners, 
among  whom  were  three  sales- 
women, an  untidy  music-teacher 
of  uncertain  age,  and  two  women 
with  their  husbands. 
When  he  reached  the  sidewalk,  he 
paused  to  consider  what  route  he  should 
ke.  It  was  the  twenty-eighth  of  June 
^-  .  «wu  he  had  only  three  francs  in  his  pocket 
^^  to  last  him  the  remainder  of  the  month. 
That  meant  two  dinners  and  no  lunches,  or  two 
lunches  and  no  dinners,  according  to  choice.  As  he 
pondered  upon  this  unpleasant  state  of  affairs,  he 
sauntered  down  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  preserving 
his  military  air  and  carriage,  and  rudely  jostled  the 
people   upon   the   streets  in   order  to   clear  a  path  for 


7    G.  de  M.— I 


(1) 


Z  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

himself.  He  appeared  to  be  hostile  to  the  passers-by, 
and  even  to  the  houses,  the  entire  city. 

Tall,  well-built,  fair,  with  blue  eyes,  a  curled  mus- 
tache, hair  naturally  wavy  and  parted  in  the  middle, 
he  recalled  the  hero  of  the  popular  romances. 

It  was  one  of  those  sultry,  Parisian  evenings  when 
not  a  breath  of  air  is  stirring;  the  sewers  exhaled 
poisonous  gases  and  the  restaurants  the  disagreeable 
odors  of  cooking  and  of  kindred  smells.  Porters  in 
their  shirt-sleeves,  astride  their  chairs,  smoked  their 
pipes  at  the  carriage  gates,  and  pedestrians  strolled 
leisurely  along,  hats  in  hand. 

When  Georges  Duroy  reached  the  boulevard  he 
halted  again,  undecided  as  to  which  road  to  choose. 
Finally  he  turned  toward  the  Madeleine  and  followed 
the  tide  of  people. 

The  large,  well-patronized  cafds  tempted  Duroy, 
but  were  he  to  drink  only  two  glasses  of  beer  in  an 
evening,  farewell  to  the  meager  supper  the  following 
night!  Yet  he  said  to  himself:  "1  will  take  a  glass 
at  the  Americain.     By  Jove,   1  am  thirsty." 

He  glanced  at  men  seated  at  the  tables,  men  who 
could  afford  to  slake  their  thirst,  and  he  scowled  at 
them.  "Rascals!"  he  muttered.  If  he  could  have 
caught  one  of  them  at  a  corner  in  the  dark  he  would 
have  choked  him  without  a  scruple!  He  recalled  the 
two  years  spent  in  Africa,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  extorted  money  from  the  Arabs.  A  smile 
hovered  about  his  lips  at  the  recollection  of  an  esca- 
pade which  had  cost  three  men  their  lives,  a  foray 
which  had  given  his  two  comrades  and  himself  sev- 
enty fowls,  two  sheep,  money,  and  something  to 
laugh  about  for  six  months.     The  culprits  were  never 


REL-AMI  a 

found;  indeed,  they  were  not  sought  for,  the  Arab 
being  looked  upon  as  the  soldier's  prey. 

But  in  Paris  it  was  different;  there  one  could  not 
commit  such  deeds  with  impunity.  He  regretted 
that  he  had  not  remained  where  he  was;  but  he  had 
hoped  to  improve  his  condition  —  and  for  that  reason 
he  was  in  Paris! 

He  passed  the  Vaudeville  and  stopped  at  the  Cafe 
Americain,  debating  as  to  whether  he  should  take 
that  "glass."  Before  deciding,  he  glanced  at  a  clock; 
it  was  a  quarter  past  nine.  He  knew  that  when  the 
beer  was  placed  in  front  of  him,  he  would  drink  it; 
and  then  what  would  he  do  at  eleven  o'clock?  So 
he  walked  on,  intending  to  go  as  far  as  the  Made- 
leine and  return. 

When  he  reached  the  Place  de  I'Opera,  a  tall, 
young  man  passed  him,  whose  face  he  fancied  was 
familiar.  He  followed  him,  repeating:  "Where  the 
deuce  have  I  seen  that  fellow?" 

For  a  time  he  racked  his  brain  in  vain;  then  sud- 
denly he  saw  the  same  man,  but  not  so  corpulent 
and  more  youthful,  attired  in  the  uniform  of  a  Hus- 
sar. He  exclaimed:  "Wait,  Forestier!  "  and  hasten- 
ing up  to  him,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  man's  shoulder. 
The  latter  turned,  looked  at  him,  and  said:  "What 
do  you  want,  sir?" 

Duroy  began  to  laugh:  "Don't  you  remember 
me?" 

"No." 

"Not  remember  Georges  Duroy  of  the  Sixth  Hus- 
sars." 

Forestier  extended  both  hands. 

"Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  how  are  you?" 


4  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Very  well.     And  how  are  you?" 

"Oh,  I  am  not  very  well.  I  cough  six  months 
out  of  the  twelve  as  a  result  of  bronchitis  contracted 
at  Bougival,  about  the  time  of  my  return  to  Paris 
four  years  ago." 

"  But  you  look  well." 

Forestier,  taking  his  former  comrade's  arm,  told 
him  of  his  malady,  of  the  consultations,  the  opinions 
and  the  advice  of  the  doctors  and  of  the  difficulty  of 
following  their  advice  in  his  position.  They  ordered 
him  to  spend  the  winter  in  the  south,  but  how  could 
he  ?  He  was  married  and  was  a  journalist  in  a  re- 
sponsible editorial  position. 

"1  manage  the  political  department  on  'La  Vie 
Franfaise ' ;  I  report  the  doings  of  the  Senate  for  '  Le 
Salut,'  and  from  time  to  time  I  write  for  'La  Planete.' 
That  is  what  1  am  doing." 

Duroy,  in  surprise,  glanced  at  him.  He  was  very 
much  changed.  Formerly  Forestier  had  been  thin, 
giddy,  noisy,  and  always  in  good  spirits.  But  three 
years  of  life  in  Paris  had  made  another  man  of  him; 
now  he  was  stout  and  serious,  and  his  hair  was  gray 
on  his  temples  although  he  could  not  number  more 
than  twenty-seven  years. 

Forestier  asked:     "Where  are  you  going?" 

Duroy  replied:    "Nowhere  in  particular." 

"Very  well,  will  you  accompany  me  to  the  'Vie 
Fran^aise'  where  I  have  some  proofs  to  correct;  and 
afterward  take  a  drink  with  me?" 

"Yes,  gladly." 

They  walked  along  arm-in-arm  with  that  familiarity 
which  exists  between  schoolmates  and  brother-officers. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  Paris?"   ?sked  Forestier. 


BEL-AMI 


5 


Duroy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Dying  of  hunger,  simply.  When  my  time  was 
up,  1  came  hither  to  make  my  fortune,  or  rather  to 
live  in  Paris  —  and  for  six  months  1  have  been  em- 
ployed in  a  railroad  office  at  fifteen  hundred  francs  a 
year." 

Forestier  murmured:  "That  is  not  very  much," 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  answered  Duroy.  "I  am 
alone,  I  know  no  one,  1  have  no  recommendations. 
The  spirit  is  not  lacking,  but  the  means  are." 

His  companion  looked  at  him  from  head  to  foot 
like  a  practical  man  who  is  examining  a  subject;  then 
he  said,  in  a  tone  of  conviction:  "You  see,  my  dear 
fellow,  all  depends  on  assurance,  here.  A  shrewd, 
observing  man  can  sometimes  become  a  minister. 
You  must  obtrude  yourself  and  yet  not  ask  anything. 
But  how  is  it  you  have  not  found  anything  better 
than  a  clerkship  at  the  station?" 

Duroy  replied:  "1  hunted  everywhere  and  found 
nothing  else.  But  I  know  where  I  can  get  three 
thousand  francs  at  least  —  as  riding-master  at  the  Pel- 
lerin  school." 

Forestier  stopped  him:  "Don't  do  it,  for  you  can 
earn  ten  thousand  francs.  You  will  ruin  your  pros- 
pects at  once.  In  your  office  at  least  no  one  knows 
you;  you  can  leave  it  if  you  wish  to  at  any  time. 
But  when  you  are  once  a  riding-master  all  will  be 
over.  You  might  as  well  be  a  butler  in  a  house  to 
which  all  Paris  comes  to  dine.  When  you  have  given 
riding  lessons  to  men  of  the  world  or  to  their  sons, 
they  will  no  longer  consider  you  their  equal." 

He  paused,  reflected  several  seconds  and  then 
asked : 


6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Are  you  a  bachelor?" 

"  Yes,  though  I  have  been  smitten  several  times." 

"That  makes  no  difference.  If  Cicero  and  Tibe- 
rius were  mentioned  would  you  know  who  they 
were.^" 

"Yes." 

"Good,  no  one  knows  any  more  except  about  a 
score  of  fools.  It  is  not  difficult  to  pass  for  being 
learned.  The  secret  is  not  to  betray  your  ignorance. 
Just  maneuver,  avoid  the  quicksands  and  obstacles, 
and  the  rest  can  be  found  in  a  dictionary." 

He  spoke  like  one  who  understood  human  nature, 
and  he  smiled  as  the  crowd  passed  them  by.  Sud- 
denly he  began  to  cough  and  stopped  to  allow  the 
paroxysm  to  spend  itself;  then  he  said  in  a  discour- 
aged tone: 

"Isn't  it  tiresome  not  to  be  able  to  get  rid  of  this 
bronchitis?  And  here  is  midsummer!  This  winter  I 
shall  go  to  Mentone.     Health   before  everything." 

They  reached  the  Boulevarde  Poissoniere;  behind  a 
large  glass  door  an  open  paper  was  affixed;  three  peo- 
ple were  reading  it.  Above  the  door  was  printed  the 
legend,   "La  Vie  Fran^aise." 

Forestier  pushed  open  the  door  and  said:  "Come 
in."  Duroy  entered;  they  ascended  the  stairs,  passed 
through  an  antechamber  in  which  two  clerks  greeted 
their  comrade,  and  then  entered  a  kind  of  waiting- 
room. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Forestier,  "I  shall  be  back  in 
five  minutes,"  and  he  disappeared. 

Duroy  remained  where  he  was;  from  time  to  time 
men  passed  him  by,  entering  by  one  door  and  going 
out  by  another  before  he  had  time  to  glance  at  them. 


BEL-AMI  7 

Now  they  were  young  men,  very  young,  with  a  busy 
air,  holding  sheets  of  paper  in  their  hands;  now  com- 
positors, their  shirts  spotted  with  ink  —  carefully  carry- 
ing what  were  evidently  fresh  proofs.  Occasionally  a 
gentleman  entered,  fashionably  dressed,  some  reporter 
bringing  news. 

Forestier  reappeared  arm-in-arm  with  a  tall,  thin 
man  of  thirty  or  forty,  dressed  in  a  black  coat,  with 
a  white  cravat,  a  dark  complexion,  and  an  insolent, 
self-satisfied  air.  Forestier  said  to  him:  "Adieu,  my 
dear  sir,"  and  the  other  pressed  his  hand  with: 
"Au  revoir,  my  friend."  Then  he  descended  the 
stairs  whistling,  his  cane  under  his  arm. 

Duroy  asked  his  name. 

"That  is  Jacques  Rival,  the  celebrated  writer  and 
duelist.  He  came  to  correct  his  proofs.  Garin, 
Montel  and  he  are  the  best  witty  and  realistic 
writers  we  have  in  Paris.  He  earns  thirty  thousand 
francs  a  year  for  two  articles  a  week." 

As  they  went  downstairs,  they  met  a  stout,  little 
man  with  long  hair,  who  was  ascending  the  stairs 
whistling.     Forestier  bowed  low. 

"Norbert  de  Varenne,"  said  he,  "the  poet,  the 
author  of'Les  Soleils  Morts,' — a  very  expensive  man. 
Every  poem  he  gives  us  costs  three  hundred  francs 
and  the  longest  has  not  two  hundred  lines.  But  let 
us  go  into  the  Napolitain,  I  am  getting  thirsty." 

When  they  were  seated  at  a  table,  Forestier 
ordered  two  glasses  of  beer.  He  emptied  his  at  a 
single  draught,  while  Duroy  sipped  his  beer  slowly 
as  if  it  were  something  rare  and  precious.  Suddenly 
his  companion  asked,  "Why  don't  you  try  jour- 
nalism ?" 


8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Duroy  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  said:  "Be- 
cause I  have  never  written  anything." 

"Bah,  we  all  have  to  make  a  beginning.  I  could 
employ  you  myself  by  sending  you  to  obtain  infor- 
mation. At  first  you  would  only  get  two  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  a  month  but  your  cab  fare  would  be 
paid.     Shall  I  speak  to  the  manager?" 

"  If  you  will." 

"Well,  then  come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow; 
I  will  only  ask  five  or  six  to  meet  you;  the  manager, 
M.  Walter,  his  wife,  with  Jacques  Rival,  and  Norbert 
de  Varenne  whom  you  have  just  seen,  and  also  a 
friend  of  Mme.  Forestier.     Will  you  come?" 

Duroy  hesitated,  blushing  and  perplexed.  Finally 
he  murmured:  "1  have  no  suitable  clothes." 

Forestier  was  amazed.  "You  have  no  dress  suit? 
Egad,  that  is  indispensable.  In  Paris,  it  is  better  to 
have  no  bed  than  no  clothes."  Then,  fumbling  in  his 
vest-pocket,  he  drew  from  it  two  louis,  placed  them 
before  his  companion,  and  said  kindly:  "You  can  re- 
pay me  when  it  is  convenient.  Buy  yourself  what  you 
need  and  pay  an  installment  on  it.  And  come  and 
dine  with  us  at  half  past  seven,  at  17  Rue  Fontaine." 

In  confusion  Duroy  picked  up  the  money  and 
stammered:  "You  are  very  kind  —  1  am  much 
obliged  —  be  sure  I  shall  not  forget." 

Forestier  interrupted  him:  "That's  all  right,  take 
another  glass  of  beer.  Waiter,  two  more  glasses!" 
When  he  had  paid  the  score,  the  journalist  asked: 
"Would  you  like  a  stroll  for  an  hour?" 

"  Certainly." 

They  turned  toward  the  Madeleine.  "What  shall 
we   do?"    asked   Forestier.     "They  say  that    in  Paris 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I  9 

an  idler  can  always  find  amusement,  but  it  is  not 
true.  A  turn  in  the  Bois  is  only  enjoyable  if  you 
have  a  lady  with  you,  and  that  is  a  rare  occurrence. 
The  caf^  concerts  may  divert  my  tailor  and  his  wife, 
but  they  do  not  interest  me.  So  what  can  we  do  ? 
Nothing!  There  ought  to  be  a  summer  garden  here, 
open  at  night,  where  a  man  could  listen  to  good 
music  while  drinking  beneath  the  trees.  It  would  be 
a  pleasant  lounging  place.  You  could  walk  in  alleys 
bright  with  electric  light  and  seat  yourself  where  you 
pleased  to  hear  the  music.  It  Vv'ould  be  charm.ing. 
Where  would  you  like  to  go.?" 

Duroy  did  not  know  what  to  reply;  finally  he  said: 
"I  have  never  been  to  the  Folies  Bergeres.  1  should 
like  to  go  there." 

His  companion  exclaimed:  "The  Folies  Bergeres! 
Very  well!" 

They  turned  and  walked  toward  the  Faubourg 
Montmartre.  The  brilliantly  illuminated  building  loomed 
up  before  them.  Forestier  entered,  Duroy  stopped 
him.     "We  forgot  to  pass  through  the  gate." 

The  other  replied  in  a  consequential  tone:  "I 
never  pay,"  and  approached  the  box-office. 

"Have  you  a  good  box?" 

"Certainly,  M.   Forestier." 

He  took  the  ticket  handed  him,  pushed  open  the 
door,  and  they  were  within  the  hall.  A  cloud  of 
tobacco  smoke  almost  hid  the  stage  and  the  opposite 
side  of  the  theater.  In  the  spacious  foyer  which  led 
to  the  circular  promenade,  brilliantly  dressed  women 
mingled  with  black-coated  men. 

Forestier  forced  his  way  rapidly  through  the  throng 
and  accosted  an  usher. 


lO  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Box  17?" 

"This  way,  sir." 

The  friends  were  shown  into  a  tiny  box,  hung  and 
carpeted  in  red,  with  four  chairs  upholstered  in  the 
same  color.  They  seated  themselves.  To  their  right 
and  left  were  similar  boxes.  On  the  stage  three  men 
were  performing  on  trapezes.  But  Duroy  paid  no 
heed  to  them,  his  eyes  finding  more  to  interest  them 
in  the  grand  promenade.  Forestier  remarked  upon 
the  motley  appearance  of  the  throng,  but  Duroy  did 
not  listen  to  him.  A  woman,  leaning  her  arms  upon 
the  edge  of  her  loge,  was  staring  at  him.  She  was 
a  tall,  voluptuous  brunette,  her  face  whitened  with 
enamel,  her  black  eyes  penciled,  and  her  lips  painted. 
With  a  movement  of  her  head,  she  summoned  a 
friend  who  was  passing,  a  blonde  with  auburn  hair, 
likewise  inclined  to  embonpoint,  and  said  to  her  in  a 
whisper  intended  to  be  heard:  "There  is  a  nice 
fellow! " 

Forestier  heard  it,  and  said  to  Duroy  with  a  smile: 
"You  are  lucky,  my  dear  boy.     My  congratulations!" 

The  ci-devant  soldier  blushed  and  mechanically  fin- 
gered the  two  pieces  of  gold  in  his  pocket. 

The  curtain  fell  —  the  orchestra  played  a  valse  — 
and  Duroy  said: 

"Shall  we  walk  around  the  gallery?" 

"  If  you  like." 

Soon  they  were  carried  along  in  the  current  of 
promenaders.  Duroy  drank  in  with  delight  the  air, 
vitiated  as  it  was  by  tobacco  and  cheap  perfume, 
but  Forestier  perspired,  panted,  and  coughed. 

"Let  us  go  into  the  garden,"  he  said.  Turning 
to  the  left,  they  entered  a  kind  of  covered   garden   in 


BEL- AMI  n 

which  two  large  fountains  were  playing.  Under  the 
yews,  men  and  women  sat  at  tables  drinking. 

"Another  glass  of  beer  .^"  asked  Forestier. 

"Gladly." 

They  took  their  seats  and  watched  the  promen- 
aders.  Occasionally  a  woman  would  stop  and  ask 
with  a  coarse  smile:  "What  have  you  to  offer, 
sir?" 

Forestier's  invariable  answer  was:  "A  glass  of 
water  from  the  fountain."  And  the  woman  would 
mutter,  "Go  along,"  and  walk  away. 

At  last  the  brunette  reappeared,  arm-in-arm  with 
the  blonde.  They  made  a  handsome  couple.  The 
former  smiled  on  perceiving  Duroy,  and  taking  a  chair 
she  calmly  seated  herself  in  front  of  him,  and  said  in 
a  clear  voice:  "Waiter,  two  glasses." 

In  astonishment,  Forestier  exclaimed:  "You  are 
not  at  all  bashful! " 

She  replied:  "Your  friend  has  bewitched  me;  he 
is  such  a  fine  fellow.  I  believe  he  has  turned  my 
head." 

Duroy  said  nothing. 

The  waiter  brought  the  beer,  which  the  women 
swallowed  rapidly;  then  they  rose,  and  the  brunette, 
nodding  her  head  and  tapping  Duroy's  arm  with  her 
fan,  said  to  him:  "Thank  you,  my  dear!  However, 
you  are  not  very  talkative." 

As  they  disappeared,  Forestier  laughed  and  said: 
"Tell,  me,  old  man,  did  you  know  that  you  had  a 
charm  for  the  weaker  sex?    You  must   be  careful." 

Without  replying,  Duroy  smiled.  His  friend  asked: 
"Shall  you  remain  any  longer?  I  am  going;  1  have 
had  enough." 


12  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Georges  murmured:  "Yes,  I  will  stay  a  little 
longer:  it  is  not  late." 

Forestier  arose:  "Very  well,  then,  good-bye  un- 
til to-morrow.  Do  not  forget:  17  Rue  Fontaine  at 
seven  thirty." 

"I  shall  not  forget.     Thank  you." 

The  friends  shook  hands  and  the  journalist  left 
Duroy  to  his  own  devices. 

Forestier  once  out  of  sight,  Duroy  felt  free,  and 
again  he  joyously  touched  the  gold  pieces  in  his 
pocket;  then  rising,   he  mingled  witn  the  crowd. 

He  soon  discovered  the  blonde  and  the  brunette. 
He  went  toward  them,  but  when  near  them  dared 
not  address  them. 

The  brunette  called  out  to  him:  "Have  you  found 
your  tongue  ?" 

He  stammered:  "Zounds!"  too  bashful  to  say  an- 
other word.  A  pause  ensued,  during  which  the 
brunette  took  his  arm  and  together  they  left  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Madame  Forrstier 


W 


HERE  does  M.  Forestier  live?" 
"Third  floor  on  the  left," 
said   the    porter    pleasantly, 
on  learning  Duroy's  destination. 
Georges    ascended    the    staircase. 
He   was    somewhat  embarrassed  and 
ill-at-ease.     He  had  on  a  new  suit  but 
he  was    uncomfortable.     He  felt  that  it 
was  defective;  his  boots  were  not  glossy, 
he  had   bought  his  shirt  that  same   even- 
ing at   the  Louvre    for  four  francs  fifty,  his 
trousers  were   too  wide    and    betrayed    their 
cheapness   in    their    fit,  or    rather,  misfit,  and 
his  coat  was  too   tight. 

Slowly  he  ascended  the  stairs,  his  heart  beating, 
his  mind  anxious.  Suddenly  before  him  stood  a  well- 
dressed  gentleman  staring  at  him.  The  person  re- 
sembled Duroy  so  close  that  the  latter  retreated,  then 
stopped,  and  saw  that  it  was  his  own  image  reflected 
in  a  pier-glass!  Not  having  anything  but  a  small 
mirror  at  home,  he  had  not  been  able  to  see  himself 
entirely,  and  had  exaggerated  the  imperfections  of  his 

in) 


14 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


toilette.  When  he  saw  his  reflection  in  the  glass,  he 
did  not  even  recognize  himself;  he  took  himself  for 
some  one  else,  for  a  man-of-the-world,  and  was  really 
satisfied  with  his  general  appearance.  Smiling  to 
himself,  Duroy  extended  his  hand  and  expressed  his 
astonishment,  pleasure,  and  approbation.  A  door 
opened  on  the  staircase.  He  was  afraid  of  being  sur- 
prised and  began  to  ascend  more  rapidly,  fearing  that 
he  might  have  been  seen  posing  there  by  some  of 
his  friend's  invited  guests. 

On  reaching  the  second  floor,  he  saw  another 
mirror,  and  once  more  slackened  his  pace  to  look  at 
himself.  He  likewise  paused  before  the  third  glass, 
twirled  his  mustache,  took  off  his  hat  to  arrange  his 
hair,  and  murmured  half  aloud,  a  habit  of  his:  "Hall 
mirrors  are  most   convenient." 

Then  he  rang  the  bell.  The  door  opened  almost 
immediately,  and  before  him  stood  a  servant  in  a 
black  coat,  with  a  grave,  shaven  face,  so  perfect  in 
his  appearance  that  Duroy  again  became  confused  as 
he  compared  the  cut  of  their  garments. 

The  lackey  asked: 

"Whom  shall  1  announce,  Monsieur.?"  He  raised 
a  portiere  and  pronounced  the  name. 

Duroy  lost  his  self-possession  upon  being  ushered 
into  a  world  as  yet  strange  to  him.  However,  he 
advanced.  A  young,  fair  woman  received  him  alone 
in  a  large,  well-lighted  room.  He  paused,  discon- 
certed. Who  was  that  smiling  lady  ?  He  remem- 
bered that  Forestier  was  married,  and  the  thought 
that  the  handsome  blonde  was  his  friend's  wife  ren- 
dered him  awkward  and  ill-at-easie.  He  stammered 
out: 


BEL-AMI 


15 


"  Madame,   I  am  — " 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  know,  Monsieur — 
Charles  told  me  of  your  meeting  last  night,  and  I 
am  very  glad  that  he  asked  you  to  dine  with  us 
to-day." 

Duroy  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  not  know- 
ing how  to  reply;  he  felt  that  he  was  being  inspected 
from  his  head  to  his  feet.  He  half  thought  of  excus- 
ing himself,  of  inventing  an  explanation  of  the  care- 
lessness of  his  toilette,  but  he  did  not  know  how  to 
touch  upon  that  delicate  subject. 

He  seated  himself  upon  a  chair  she  pointed  out  to 
him,  and  as  he  sank  into  its  luxurious  depths,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  entering  a  new  and 
charming  life,  that  he  would  make  his  mark  in  the 
world,  that  he  was  saved.  He  glanced  at  Mme.  For- 
estier.  She  wore  a  gown  of  pale  blue  cashmere 
which  clung  gracefully  to  her  supple  form  and 
rounded  outlines;  her  arms  and  throat  rose  in  lily- 
white  purity  from  the  mass  of  lace  which  ornamented 
the  corsage  and  short  sleeves.  Her  hair  was  dressed 
high  and  curled  on  the  nape  of  her  neck. 

Duroy  grew  more  at  his  ease  under  her  glance, 
which  recalled  to  him,  he  knew  not  why,  that  of 
the  girl  he  had  met  the  preceding  evening  at  the 
Folies-Bergeres.  Mme.  Forestier  had  gray  eyes,  a 
small  nose,  full  lips,  and  a  rather  heavy  chin,  an  ir- 
regular, attractive  face,  full  of  gentleness  and  yet  of 
malice. 

After  a  short  silence,  she  asked:  "Have  you  been 
in  Paris  a  long  time?" 

Gradually  regaining  his  self-possession,  he  replied: 
"Only  a  few  months,  Madame.     1  am  in  the  railroad 


l6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

employ,  but  my  friend  Forestier  has  encouraged  me 
to  hope  that,  thanks  to  him,  I  can  enter  into  jour- 
nalism." 

She  smiled  kindly  and  murmured  in  a  low  voice: 
"I  know." 

The  bell  rang  again  and  the  servant  announced: 
"  Mme.  de  Marelle."  She  was  a  dainty  brunette,  at- 
tired in  a  simple,  dark  robe;  a  red  rose  in  her  black 
tresses  seemed  to  accentuate  her  special  character, 
and  a  young  girl,  or  rather  a  child,  for  such  she  was, 
followed  her. 

Mme.  Forestier  said:  "Good  evening,  Clotilde." 

"Good  evening,   Madeleine." 

They  embraced  each  other,  then  the  child  offered 
her  forehead  with  the  assurance  of  an  adult,  say- 
ing: 

"Good  evening,  cousin." 

Mme.  Forestier  kissed  her,  and  then  made  the  in- 
troductions: 

"M.  Georges  Duroy,  an  old  friend  of  Charles. 
Mme.  de  Marelle,  my  friend,  a  relative  in  fact."  She 
added:  "Here,  you  know,  we  do  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony." 

Duroy  bowed.  The  door  opened  again  and  a  short 
man  entered,  upon  his  arm  a  tall,  handsome  woman, 
taller  than  he  and  much  younger,  with  distinguished 
manners  and  a  dignified  carriage.  It  was  M.  Walter, 
deputy,  financier,  a  moneyed  man,  and  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, manager  of  "La  Vie  Franc^aise,"  with  his  wife, 
n^e  Basile  Ravalade,  daughter  of  the  banker  of  that 
name. 

Then  came  Jacques  Rival,  very  elegant,  followed 
by   Norbert    de    Varenne.     The   latter    advanced    with 


BEL- A  MI 


17 


the  grace  of  the  old  school  and  taking  Mme.  Fores- 
tier's  hand  kissed  it;  his  long  hair  falling  upon  his 
hostess's  bare  arm  as  he  did  so. 

Forestier  now  entered,  apologizing  for  being  late; 
he  had  been  detained. 

The  servant  announced  dinner,  and  they  entered 
the  dining-room.  Duroy  was  placed  between  Mme. 
de  Marelle  and  her  daughter.  He  was  again  rendered 
uncomfortable  for  fear  of  committing  some  error  in 
the  conventional  management  of  his  fork,  his  spoon, 
or  his  glasses,  of  which  he  had  four.  Nothing  was 
said  during  the  soup;  then  Norbert  de  Varenne  asked 
a  general  question:  "Have  you  read  the  Gauthier 
case?     How  droll  it  was!" 

Then  followed  a  discussion  of  the  subject  in  which 
the  ladies  joined.  Then  a  duel  was  mentioned  and 
Jacques  Rival  led  the  conversation;  that  was  his 
province.  Duroy  did  not  venture  a  remark,  but  occa- 
sionally glanced  at  his  neighbor.  A  diamond  upon  a 
slight,  golden  thread  depended  from  her  ear;  from 
time  to  time  she  uttered  a  remark  which  evoked  a 
smile  upon  his  lips.  Duroy  sought  vainly  for  some 
compliment  to  pay  her;  he  busied  himself  with  her 
daughter,  filled  her  glass,  waited  upon  her,  and  the 
child,  more  dignified  than  her  mother,  thanked  him 
gravely  saying,  "You  are  very  kind,  Monsieur,"  while 
she  listened  to  the  conversation  with  a  reflective  air. 
The  dinner  was  excellent  and  everyone  was  delighted 
with  it. 

The  conversation  returned  to  the  colonization  of 
Algeria.  M.  Walter  uttered  several  jocose  remarks; 
Forestier  alluded  to  the  article  he  had  prepared  for 
the    morrow;  Jacques  Rival   declared   himself  in  favor 

7    C.  de  M.— 3 


l8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

of  a  military  government  with  grants  of  land  to  all 
the  officers  after  thirty  years  of  colonial  service. 

"In  that  way,"  said  he,  "you  can  estabhsh  a 
strong  colony,  familiar  with  and  liking  the  country, 
knowing  its  language  and  able  to  cope  with  all  those 
local  yet  grave  questions  which  invariably  confront 
newcomers. 

Norbert  de  Varenne  interrupted:  "Yes,  they  would 
know  everything,  except  agriculture.  They  would 
speak  Arabic,  but  they  would  not  know  how  to 
transplant  beet-root,  and  how  to  sow  wheat.  They 
would  be  strong  in  fencing,  but  weak  in  the  art  of 
farming.  On  the  contrary,  the  new  country  should 
be  opened  to  everyone.  Intelligent  men  would  make 
positions  for  themselves;  the  others  would  succumb. 
It  is  a  natural  law." 

A  pause  ensued.  Everyone  smiled.  Georges  Du- 
roy,  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  as  if  he 
had  never  heard  it,  said: 

"What  is  needed  the  most  down  there  is  good 
soil.  Really  fertile  land  costs  as  much  as  it  does  in 
France  and  is  bought  by  wealthy  Parisians.  The  real 
colonists,  the  poor,  are  generally  cast  out  into  the 
desert,  where  nothing  grows  for  lack  of  water." 

All  eyes  turned  upon  him.  He  colored.  M.  Wal- 
ter asked:     "Do  you  know  Algeria,  sir?" 

He  replied:  "Yes,  sir,  I  was  there  twenty-eight 
months."  Leaving  the  subject  of  colonization,  Nor- 
bert de  Varenne  questioned  him  as  to  some  of  the 
Algerian  customs.  Georges  spoke  with  animation; 
excited  by  the  wine  and  the  desire  to  please,  he  re- 
lated anecdotes  of  the  regiment,  of  Arabian  life,  and 
of  the  war. 


BEL-AMI  iq 

Mme.  Walter  murmured  to  him  in  her  soft  tones; 
"You  could  write  a  series  of  charming  articles." 

Forestier  took  advantage  of  the  situation  to  say  to 
M.  Walter:  "My  dear  sir,  I  spoke  to  you  a  short 
while  since  of  M.  Georges  Duroy  and  asked  you  to 
permit  me  to  include  him  on  the  staff  of  political  re- 
porters. Since  Marambot  has  left  us,  I  have  had  no 
one  to  take  urgent  and  confidential  reports,  and  the 
paper  is  suffering  by  it." 

M.  Walter  put  on  his  spectacles  in  order  to  ex- 
amine Duroy.  Then  he  said:  "I  am  convinced  that 
M.  Duroy  is  original,  and  if  he  will  call  upon  me 
to-morrow  at  three  o'clock,  we  will  arrange  matters." 
After  a  pause,  turning  to  the  young  man,  he  said: 
"You  may  write  us  a  short  sketch  on  Algeria,  M. 
Duroy.  Simply  relate  your  experiences;  1  am  sure 
they  will  interest  our  readers.  But  you  must  do  it 
quickly." 

Mme.  Walter  added  with  her  customary,  serious 
grace:  "You  will  have  a  charming  title:  'Souvenirs 
of  a  Soldier  in  Africa.'     Will  he  not,  M.  Norbert.?" 

The  old  poet,  who  had  attained  renown  late  in 
life,  disliked  and  mistrusted  newcomers.  He  replied 
dryly:  "Yes,  excellent,  provided  that  it  is  written  in 
the  right  key,  for  there  lies  the  great  difficulty." 

Mme.  Forestier  cast  upon  Duroy  a  protecting  and 
smiling  glance  which  seemed  to  say:  "You  shall 
succeed."  The  servant  filled  the  glasses  with  wine, 
and  Forestier  proposed  the  toast:  "To  the  long  pros- 
perity of  '  La  Vie  Fran^aise.'"  Duroy  felt  superhuman 
strength  within  him,  infinite  hope,  and  invincible  reso- 
lution. He  was  at  his  ease  now  among  these  people; 
his  eyes  rested  upon   their  faces  with  renewed  assur- 


20  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

ance,   and  for   the  first   time    he  ventured    to    address 
his  neighbor: 

"You  have  the  most  beautiful  earrings  I  have 
ever  seen." 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  smile:  "It  is  a 
fancy  of  mine  to  wear  diamonds  like  this,  simply  on 
a  thread." 

He  murmured  in  reply,  trembling  at  his  audacity: 
"It  is  charming  —  but  the  ear  increases  the  beauty  of 
the  ornament." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  glance.  As  he  turned 
his  head,  he  met  Mme.  Forestier's  eyes,  in  which 
he  fancied  he  saw  a  mingled  expression  of  gai- 
ety, malice,  and  encouragement.  All  the  men  were 
talking  at  the  same  time;  their  discussion  was  ani- 
mated. 

When  the  party  left  the  dining-room,  Duroy  of- 
fered his  arm  to  the  little  girl.  She  thanked  him 
gravely  and  stood  upon  tiptoe  in  order  to  lay  her 
hand  upon  his  arm.  Upon  entering  the  drawing- 
room,  the  young  man  carefully  surveyed  it.  It  was 
not  a  large  room;  but  there  were  no  bright  colors, 
and  one  felt  at  ease;  it  was  restful.  The  walls  were 
draped  with  violet  hangings  covered  with  tiny  em- 
broidered flowers  of  yellow  silk.  The  portieres  were 
of  a  grayish  blue  and  the  chairs  were  of  all  shapes, 
of  all  sizes;  scattered  about  the  room  were  couches 
and  large  and  small  easy-chairs,  all  covered  with 
Louis  XVI.  brocade,  or  Utrecht  velvet,  a  cream  col- 
ored ground  with  garnet  flowers. 

"Do  you  take  coffee,  M.  Duroy  .^"  Mme.  Forestier 
offered  him  a  cup,  with  the  smile  that  was  always 
upon  her  lips. 


B  E  1.  -  A  M  I  21 

"Yes,  Madame,  thank  you."  He  took  the  cup, 
and  as  he  did  so,  the  young  woman  whispered  to 
him:  "Pay  Mme.  Walter  some  attention."  Then 
she  vanished  before  he  could  reply. 

First  he  drank  his  coffee,  which  he  feared  he 
should  let  fall  upon  the  carpet;  then  he  sought  a  pre- 
text for  approaching  the  manager's  wife  and  com- 
mencing a  conversation.  Suddenly  he  perceived  that 
she  held  an  empty  cup  in  her  hand,  and  as  she  was 
not  near  a  table,  she  did  not  know  where  to  put  it. 
He  rushed  toward  her: 

"Allow  me,  Madame," 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

He  took  away  the  cup  and  returned:  "If  you  but 
knew,  Madame,  what  pleasant  moments  '  La  Vie 
Fran^aise '  afforded  me,  when  1  was  in  the  desert! 
It  is  indeed  the  only  paper  one  cares  to  read  outside 
of  France;  it  contains  everything." 

She  smiled  with  amiable  indifference  as  she  re- 
plied: "M.  Walter  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in 
producing  the   kind  of  journal  which  was   required." 

They  talked  of  Paris,  the  suburbs,  the  Seine,  the 
delights  of  summer,  of  everything  they  could  think 
of.  Finally  M.  Norbert  de  Varenne  advanced,  a  glass 
of  liqueur  in  his  hand,  and  Duroy  discreetly  with- 
drew. Mme.  de  Marelle,  who  was  chatting  with  her 
hostess,  called  him:  "So,  sir,"  she  said  bluntly, 
"you  are  going  to  try  journalism?"  That  question 
led  to  a  renewal  of  the  interrupted  conversation  with 
Mme.  Walter.  In  her  turn  Mme.  de  Marelle  related 
anecdotes,  and  becoming  familiar,  laid  her  hand  upon 
Duroy's  arm.  He  felt  that  he  would  like  to  devote 
himself   to    her,  to    protect    her  —  and    the    slowness 


22  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

with  which  he  replied  to  her  questions  indicated  his 
preoccupation.  Suddenly,  without  any  cause,  Mme. 
de  Marelle  called:  "Laurine!"  and  the  girl  came  to 
her.  "Sit  down  here,  my  child,  you  will  be  cold 
near  the  window." 

Duroy  was  seized  with  an  eager  desire  to  embrace 
the  child,  as  if  part  of  that  embrace  would  revert  to 
the  mother.  He  asked  in  a  gallant,  yet  paternal  tone: 
"Will  you  permit  me  to  kiss  you,  Mademoiselle.^" 
The  child  raised  her  eyes  with  an  air  of  surprise. 
Mme.  de  Marelle  said  with  a  smile:    "Reply." 

*M  will  allow  you  to-day,  Monsieur,  but  not  all 
the  time." 

Seating  himself,  Duroy  took  Laurine  upon  his 
knee,  and  kissed  her  lips  and  her  fine  wavy  hair. 
Her  mother  was  surprised:  "V/ell,  that  is  strange! 
Ordinarily  she  only  allows  ladies  to  caress  her,  You 
are  irresistible,  Monsieur!" 

Duroy  colored,  but  did  not  reply. 

When  Mme.  Forestier  joined  them,  a  cry  of  aston- 
ishment escaped  her:  "Well,  Laurine  has  become 
sociable;  what  a  miracle!" 

The  young  man  rose  to  take  his  leave,  fearing  he 
might  spoil  his  conquest  by  some  awkward  word. 
He  bowed  to  the  ladies,  clasped  and  gently  pressed 
their  hands,  and  then  shook  hands  with  the  men. 
He  observed  that  Jacques  Rival's  was  dry  and  warm 
and  responded  cordially  to  his  pressure;  Norbert  de 
Varenne's  was  moist  and  cold  and  slipped  through 
his  fingers;  Walter's  was  cold  and  soft,  without  life, 
expressionless;  Forestier's  fat  and  warm. 

His  friend  whispered  to  him:  "To-morrow  at 
three  o'clock;  do  not  forget." 


BEL- A  MI  23 

"Never  fear! " 

When  he  reached  the  staircase,  he  felt  like  run- 
ning down,  his  joy  was  so  great;  he  went  down 
two  steps  at  a  time,  but  suddenly  on  the  second 
floor,  in  the  large  mirror,  he  saw  a  gentleman 
hurrying  on,  and  he  slackened  his  pace,  as  much 
ashamed  as  if  he  had  been  surprised  in  a  crime. 

He  surveyed  himself  some  time  with  a  complacent 
smile;  then  taking  leave  of  his  image,  he  bowed  low, 
ceremoniously,  as  if  saluting  some  grand  personage. 


CHA  PTER  III. 

First  Attempts 


W 


HEN  George  Duroy  reached  the 
street,  he  hesitated  as  to  what 
he  should  do.  He  felt  inclined 
to  stroll  along,  dreaming  of  the  future 
and  inhaling  the  soft  night  air;  but 
the  thought  of  the  series  of  articles 
ordered  by  M.  Walter  occurred  to  him, 
and  he  decided  to  return  home  at  once 
and  begin  work.  He  walked  rapidly 
along  until  he  came  to  Rue  Boursault.  The 
tenement  in  which  he  lived  was  occupied 
by  twenty  families — families  of  workingmen 
— and  as  he  mounted  the  staircase  he  experi- 
enced a  sensation  of  disgust  and  a  desire  to 
to  live  as  wealthy  men  do.  Duroy's  room  was  on  the 
fifth  floor.  He  entered  it,  opened  his  window,  and 
looked  out:  the  view  was  anything  but  prepossessing. 
He  turned  away,  thinking:  "This  won't  do.  I 
must  go  to  work."  So  he  placed  his  light  upon  the 
table  and  began  to  write.  He  dipped  his  pen  into 
the  ink  and  wrote  at  the  head  of  his  paper  in  a  bold 
hand:  "Souvenirs  of  a  Soldier  in  Africa."  Then  he 
cast  about  for  the  first  phrase.  He  rested  his  head 
(24) 


BEL-AMI  25 

upon  his  hand  and  stared  at  the  blank  sheet  before 
him.  What  should  he  say?  Suddenly  he  thought: 
"I  must  begin  with  my  departure,"  and  he  wrote: 
"In  1874,  about  the  fifteenth  of  May,  when  exhausted 
France  was  recruiting  after  the  catastrophe  of  the 
terrible  years — "  Here  he  stopped  short,  not  know- 
ing how  to  introduce  his  subject.  After  a  few  min- 
utes' reflection,  he  decided  to  lay  aside  that  page 
until  the  following  day,  and  to  write  a  description  of 
Algiers.  He  began:  "Algiers  is  a  very  clean  city — " 
but  he  could  not  continue.  After  an  effort  he 
added:  "It  is  inhabited  partly  by  Arabs."  Then  he 
threw  his  pen  upon  the  table  and  arose.  He  glanced 
around  his  miserable  room;  mentally  he  rebelled 
against  his  poverty  and  resolved  to  leave  the  next 
day. 

Suddenly  the  desire  to  work  came  on  him,  and 
he  tried  to  begin  the  article  again;  he  had  vague 
ideas  of  what  he  wanted  to  say,  but  he  could  not 
express  his  thoughts  in  words.  Convinced  of  his  in- 
ability he  arose  once  more,  his  blood  coursing  rapidly 
through  his  veins.  He  turned  to  the  window  just  as 
the  train  was  coming  out  of  the  tunnel,  and  his 
thoughts  reverted  to  his  parents.  He  saw  their  tiny 
home  on  the  heights  overlooking  Rouen  and  the 
valley  of  the  Seine.  His  father  and  mother  kept  an 
inn,  La  Belle-Vue,  at  which  the  citizens  of  the  fau- 
bourgs took  their  lunches  on  Sundays.  They  had 
wished  to  make  a  "gentleman"  of  their  son  and  had 
sent  him  to  college.  His  studies  completed,  he 
had  entered  the  army  with  the  intention  of  becoming 
an  officer,  a  colonel,  or  a  general.  But  becoming  dis- 
gusted  with    military   life,  he   determined    to   try   his 


26  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

fortune  in  Paris.  When  iiis  time  of  service  had  ex- 
pired, he  went  thither,  with  what  results  we  have 
seen.  He  awoke  from  his  reflections  as  the  locomo- 
tive whistled  shrilly,  closed  his  window,  and  began  to 
disrobe,  muttering:  "Bah,  I  shall  be  able  to  work 
better  to-morrow  morning.  My  brain  is  not  clear 
to-night.  I  have  drunk  a  little  too  much.  1  can't 
work  well  under  such  circumstances."  He  extin- 
guished his  light  and  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  early,  and,  rising,  opened  his  window 
to  inhale  the  fresh  air.  In  a  few  moments  he  seated 
himself  at  his  table,  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  rested 
his  head  upon  his  hand  and  thought  —  but  in  vain! 
However,  he  was  not  discouraged,  but  in  thought 
reassured  himself:  "Bah,  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
it!  It  is  a  profession  that  must  be  learned  like  all 
professions.  Some  one  must  help  me  the  first  time. 
I'll  go  to  Forestier.  He'll  start  my  article  for  me  in 
ten  minutes." 

When  he  reached  the  street,  Duroy  decided  that 
it  was  rather  early  to  present  himself  at  his  friend's 
house,  so  he  strolled  along  under  the  trees  on  one 
of  the  boulevards  for  a  time.  On  arriving  at  Fores- 
tier's  door,  he  found  his  friend  going  out. 

"You  here  —  at  this  hour!  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?"  ' 

Duroy  stammered  in  confusion:  "I  —  I  —  cannot 
write  that  article  on  Algeria  that  M.  Walter  wants. 
It  is  not  very  surprising,  seeing  that  1  have  never 
written  anything.  It  requires  practice.  I  could  write 
very  rapidly,  I  am  sure,  if  1  could  make  a  beginning. 
I  have  the  ideas  but  I  cannot  express  them."  He 
paused  and  hesitated. 


BEL-AMI 


27 


Forestier  smiled  maliciously:    '!  understand  that." 

Duroy  continued:  "Yes,  anyone  is  liable  to  have 
that  trouble  at  the  beginning;  and, well  —  1  have  come 
to  ask  you  to  help  me.  In  ten  minutes  you  can  set 
me  right.  You  can  give  me  a  lesson  in  style;  with- 
out you  I  can  do  nothing." 

The  other  smiled  gaily.  He  patted  his  com- 
panion's arm  and  said  to  him:  "Go  to  my  wife;  she 
will  help  you  better  than  1  can.  1  have  trained  her 
for  that  work.  I  have  not  time  this  morning  or  I 
would  do  it  willingly." 

But  Duroy  hesitated:  "At  this  hour  I  cannot  in- 
quire for  her." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can;  she  has  risen.  You  will  find 
her  in  my  study." 

"I  will  go,  but  1  shall  tell  her  you  sent  me!" 

Forestier  walked  away,  and  Duroy  slowly  ascended 
the  stairs,  wondering  what  he  should  say  and  what 
kind  of  a  reception  he  would  receive. 

The  servant  who  opened  the  door  said:  "Mon- 
sieur has  gone  out." 

Duroy  replied:  "Ask  Mme.  Forestier  if  she  will 
see  me,  and  tell  her  that  M.  Forestier,  whom  1  met 
on  the  street,  sent  me." 

The  lackey  soon  returned  and  ushered  Duroy  into 
Madame's  presence.  She  was  seated  at  a  table  and 
extended  her  hand  to  him. 

"So  soon?"  said  she.  It  was  not  a  reproach,  but 
a  simple  question. 

He  stammered:  "1  did  not  want  to  come  up, 
Madame,  but  your  husband,  whom  1  met  below,  in- 
sisted—  I  dare  scarcely  tell  you  my  errand  —  1  worKed 
late  last  night   and   early   this    morning,  to   write   the 


28  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

article  on  Algeria  which  M.  Walter  wants  —  and  I  did 
not  succeed  —  I  destroyed  all  my  attempts  —  1  am  not 
accustomed  to  the  work  —  and  I  came  to  ask  Fores- 
tier  to  assist  me — this  once." 

She  interrupted  with  a  laugh:  "And  he  sent  you 
to  me?" 

"Yes,  Madame.  He  said  you  could  help  me  bet- 
ter than  he  —  but  —  I  dared  not — 1  did  not  like  to." 

She  rose. 

"It  will  be  delightful  to  work  together  that  way. 
I  am  charmed  with  your  idea.  Wait,  take  my  chair, 
for  they  know  my  handwriting  on  the  paper — we 
will  write  a  successful  article." 

She  took  a  cigarette  from  the  mantelpiece  and 
lighted  it.  "I  cannot  work  without  smoking,"  she 
said;  "what  are  you  going  to  say?" 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  "I  do  not 
know;  I  came  here  to  find  that  out." 

She  replied:  "I  will  manage  it  all  right.  1  will 
make  the  sauce  but  I  must  have  the  dish."  She 
questioned  him  in  detail  and  finally  said: 

"Now,  we  will  begin.  First  of  all  we  will  sup- 
pose that  you  are  addressing  a  friend,  which  will  al- 
low us  scope  for  remarks  of  all  kinds.  Begin  this 
way:  'My  dear  Henry,  you  wish  to  know  something 
about  Algeria;  you  shall.'" 

Then  followed  a  brilliantly  worded  description  of 
Algeria  and  of  the  port  of  Algiers,  an  excursion  to 
the  province  of  Oran,  a  visit  to  Saida,  and  an  ad- 
venture with  a  pretty  Spanish  maid  employed  in 
a  factory. 

When  the  article  was  concluded,  he  could  find  no 
words    of    thanks;    he    was    happy  to    be    near    her, 


BEL- AMI 


29 


grateful  for  and  delighted  with  their  growing  in- 
timacy. It  seemed  to  him  that  everything  about 
him  was  a  part  of  her,  even  to  the  books  upon  the 
shelves.  The  chairs,  the  furniture,  the  air  —  all  were 
permeated  with  that  delightful  fragrance  peculiar  to 
her. 

She  asked  bluntly:  "What  do  you  think  of  my 
friend  Mme.  de  Marelle?" 

"I  think  her  very  fascinating,"  he  said;  and  he 
would  have  liked  to  add:  "But  not  as  much  so  as 
you."    He  had  not  the  courage  tc  do  so. 

She  continued:  "  If  you  only  knew  how  comical, 
original,  and  intelligent  she  is!  She  is  a  true  Bohe- 
mian. It  is  for  that  reason  that  her  husband  no 
longer  loves  her.  He  only  sees  her  defects  and  none 
of  her  good  qualities." 

Duroy  was  surprised  to  hear  that  Mme.  de  Ma- 
relle was  married. 

"What,"  he  asked,  "is  she  married?  What  does 
her  husband  do?" 

Mme.  Forestier  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  he 
is  superintendent  of  a  railroad.  He  is  in  Paris  a  week 
out  of  each  month.  His  wife  calls  it  'Holy  Week,' 
or  'The  week  of  duty.'  When  you  get  better  ac- 
quainted with  her,  you  will  see  how  witty  she  is! 
Come  here  and  see  her  some  day." 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  a 
gentleman  entered  unannounced.  He  halted  on  see- 
ing a  man.  For  a  moment  Mme.  Forestier  seemed 
confused;  then  she  said  in  a  natural  voice,  though 
her  cheeks  were  tinged  with  a  blush: 

"Come  in,  my  dear  sir;  allow  me  to  present  to 
you  an  old  comrade  of  Charles,   M.  Georges  Duroy,  a 


30 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


future  journalist."  Then  in  a  different  tone,  she  said: 
"Our  best  and  dearest  friend,  Count  de  Vaudrec." 

The  two  men  bowed,  gazed  into  one  another's 
eyes,  and  then  Duroy  took  his  leave.  Neither  tried 
to  detain  him. 

On  reaching  the  street  he  felt  sad  and  uncomforta- 
ble. Count  de  Vaudrec's  face  was  constantly  before 
him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  man  was  displeased 
at  finding  him  tete-d-tcte  with  Mme.  Forestier,  though 
why  he  should  be,  he  could  not  divine. 

To  while  away  the  time  until  three  o'clock,  he 
lunched  at  Duval's,  and  then  lounged  along  the  boule- 
vard. When  the  clock  chimed  the  hour  of  his  ap- 
pointment, he  climbed  the  stairs  leading  to  the  office 
of  "La  Vie  Fran(;aise." 

Duroy  asked:     "Is  M.  Walter  in?" 

"M.  Walter  is  engaged,"  was  the  reply.  "Will 
you  please  take  a  seat?" 

Duroy  waited  twenty  minutes,  then  he  turned  to 
the  clerk  and  said:  "  M.  Walter  had  an  appointment 
with  me  at  three  o'clock.  At  any  rate,  see  if  my 
friend    M.   Forestier  is  here." 

He  was  conducted  along  a  corridor  and  ushered 
into  a  large  room  in  which  four  men  were  writing 
at  a  table.  Forestier  was  standing  before  the  fire- 
place, smoking  a  cigarette.  After  listening  to  Duroy's 
story  he  said: 

"Come  with  me;  I  will  take  you  to  M.  Walter, 
or  else  you  might  remain  here  until  seven  o'clock." 

They  entered  the  manager's  room.  Norbert  de 
Varenne  was  writing  an  article,  seated  in  an  easy- 
chair;  Jacques  Rival,  stretched  upon  a  divan,  was 
smoking   a   cigar.     The    room    had   the   peculiar  odor 


BEL-AMI 


31 


familiar  to  all  journalists.  When  they  approached 
M.  Walter,  Forestier  said:  "Here  is  my  friend  Du- 
roy." 

The  manager  looked  keenly  at  the  young  man 
and  asked: 

"Have  you  brought  my  article?" 

Duroy  drew  the  sheets  of  manuscript  from  his 
pocket. 

"Here  they  are,  Monsieur." 

The  manager  seemed  delighted  and  said  with  a 
smile:  "Very  good.  You  are  a  man  of  your  word. 
Need  1  look  over  it,  Forestier?" 

But  Forestier  hastened  to  reply:  "It  is  not  nec- 
essary, M.  Walter;  I  helped  him  in  order  to  initiate 
him  into  the  profession,  it  is  very  good."  Then 
bending  toward  him,  he  whispered:  "You  know 
you  promised  to  engage  Duroy  to  replace  Marambot. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  retain  him  on  the  same 
terms  ?" 

"Certainly." 

Taking  his  friend's  arm,  the  journalist  drew  him 
away,  while  M.  Walter  returned  to  the  game  of 
6carU  he  had  been  engaged  in  when  they  entered. 
Forestier  and  Duroy  returned  to  the  room  in  which 
Georges  had  found  his  friend.  The  latter  said  to  his 
new  reporter: 

"You  must  come  here  every  day  at  three  o'clock, 
and  1  will  tell  you  what  places  to  go  to.  First  of 
all,  I  shall  give  you  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the 
chief  of  the  police,  who  will  in  turn  introduce  you  to 
one  of  his  employees.  You  can  arrange  with  him  for 
all  important  news,  official  and  semiofficial.  For  de- 
tails  you    can    apply  to    Saint-Potin,  who    is    posted; 


32 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


you  will  see  him  to-morrow.  Above  all,  you  must 
learn  to  make  your  way  everywhere  in  spite  of  closed 
doors.  You  will  receive  two  hundred  francs  a 
months,  two  sous  a  line  for  original  matter,  and  two 
sous  a  line  for  articles  you  are  ordered  to  write  on 
different  subjects." 

"What  shall  I  do  to-day.?"  asked  Duroy. 

"I  have  no  work  for  you  to-day;  you  can  go  if 
you  wish  to." 

"And  our  —  our  article?" 

"Oh,  do  not  worry  about  it;  I  will  correct  the 
proofs.  Do  the  rest  to-morrow  and  come  here  at 
three  o'clock  as  you  did  to-day." 

And  after  shaking  hands,  Duroy  descended  the 
staircase  with  a  light  heart. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


DuROY  Learns  Something 


G 


EORGES  DuROY  did  not  sleep  well, 
so  anxious  was  he  to  see  his 
article  in  print.  He  rose  at 
daybreak,  and  was  on  the  street  long 
before  the  newsboys.  When  he  se- 
,^^,  cured  a  paper  and  saw  his  name  at 
the  end  of  a  column  in  large  letters, 
he  became  very  much  excited.  He  felt 
inclined  to  enact  the  part  of  a  newsboy 
and  cry  out  to  the  hurrying  throng:  "Buy 
this!  it  contains  an  article  by  me!"  He  strolled 
along  to  a  cafe  and  seated  himself  in  order  to 
read  the  article  through;  that  done  he  decided  to 
^  go  to  the  railroad  office,  draw  his  salary,  and  hand 
in  his  resignation. 

With  great  pomposity  he  informed  the  chief  clerk 
that  he  was  on  the  staff  of  "La  Vie  Fran^aise,"  and 
by  that  means  was  avenged  for  many  petty  insults 
which  had  been  offered  him.  He  then  had  some 
cards  written  with  his  new  calling  beneath  his  name, 
made  several  purchases,  and  repaired  to  the  office  of 
"  La  Vie  Fran^aise."  Forestier  received  him  loftily  as 
one  would  an  inferior. 

7    C.  de  M.-3  (  ^3  ) 


34 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"Ah,  here  you  are!  Very  well;  I  have  several 
things  for  you  to  do.  Just  wait  ten  minutes  till  I 
finish  this  work."     He  continued  writing. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  table  sat  a  short,  pale  man, 
very  stout  and  bald.  Forestier  asked  him,  when  his 
letter  was  completed,  "  Saint-Potin,  at  what  time  shall 
you  interview  those  people?' 

"  At  four  o'clock." 

"Take  Duroy,  who  is  here,  with  you  and  initiate 
him  into  the  business." 

"  Very  well." 

Then  turning  to  his  friend,  Forestier  added:  "Have 
you  brought  the  other  paper  on  Algeria?  The  article 
this  morning  was  very  successful." 

Duroy  stammered:  "No,  1  thought  I  should  have 
time  this  afternoon.  I  had  so  much  to  do  —  I  could 
not." 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "If  you  are 
not  more  careful,  you  will  spoil  your  future.  M. 
Walter  counted  on  your  copy.  I  will  tell  him  it  will 
be  ready  to-morrow.  If  you  think  you  will  be  paid 
for  doing  nothing,  you  are  mistaken."  After  a  pause, 
he  added:   "You  should  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot." 

Saint-Potin  rose:   "1  am  ready,"  said  he. 

Forestier  turned  around  in  his  chair  and  said  to 
Duroy:  "Listen.  The  Chinese  general  Li-Theng-Fao, 
stopping  at  the  Continental,  and  Rajah  Taposahib 
Ramaderao  Pali,  stopping  at  Hotel  Bishop,  have  been 
in  Paris  two  days.  You  must  interview  them."  Ad- 
dressing Saint-Potin,  he  said:  "Do  not  forget  the 
principal  points  I  indicated  to  you.  Ask  the  general 
and  the  rajah  their  opinions  on  the  dealings  of  Eng- 
land in  the  extreme  East,  their  ideas  of  their  system  of 


BEL-AMI 


35 


colonization  and  government,  their  hopes  relative  to  the 
intervention  of  Europe  and  of  France  in  particular." 
To  Duroy  he  said:  "Observe  what  Saint- Potin  says; 
he  is  an  excellent  reporter,  and  try  to  learn  how  to 
draw  out  a  man  in  five  minutes."  Then  he  resumed 
his  work. 

The  two  men  walked  down  the  boulevard  to- 
gether, while  Saint-Potin  gave  Duroy  a  sketch  of  all 
the  officials  connected  with  the  paper,  sparing  no 
one  in  his  criticism.  When  he  mentioned  Forestier, 
he  said:  "As  for  him,  he  was  fortunate  in  marrying 
his  wife." 

Duroy  asked:    "What  about  his  wife?" 

Saint-Potin  rubbed  his  hands.  "Oh,  she  is  be- 
loved by  an  old  fellow  named  Vaudrec  —  he  dotes 
upon  her." 

Duroy  felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  box  Saint-Potin's 
ears.  To  change  the  subject  he  said:  "It  seems  to 
me  that  it  is  late,  and  we  have  two  noble  lords  to 
call   upon!" 

Saint-Potin  laughed:  "You  are  very  innocent! 
Do  you  think  that  1  am  going  to  interview  that 
Chinese  and  that  Indian  ?  As  if  1  did  not  know 
better  than  they  do  what  they  should  think  to  please 
the  readers  of  '  La  Vie  Frangaise ' !  1  have  interviewed 
five  hundred  Chinese,  Prussians,  Hindoos,  Chilians, 
and  Japanese.  They  all  say  the  same  thing.  1  need 
only  copy  my  article  on  the  last  comer,  word  for 
word,  changing  the  heading,  names,  titles,  and  ages: 
in  that  there  must  be  no  error,  or  1  shall  be  hauled 
over  the  coals  by  the  'Figaro'  or  'Gaulois.'  But  on 
that  subject  the  porter  of  the  hotels  will  post  me  in 
five  minutes.     We   will   smoke    our   cigars   and   stroU 


^6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

in  that  direction.  Total  —  one  hundred  sous  for  cab- 
fare.     That  is  the  way,   my  dear  fellow." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Madeleine,  Saint-Potin 
said  to  his  companion:  "If  you  have  anything  to 
do,  I  do  not  need  you." 

Duroy  shook  hands  with  him  and  walked  away. 
The  thought  of  the  article  he  had  to  write  that  even- 
ing haunted  him.  Mentally  he  collected  the  material 
as  he  wended  his  way  to  the  caf^  at  which  he  dined. 
Then  he  returned  home  and  seated  himself  at  his 
table  to  work.  Before  his  eyes  was  the  sheet  of 
blank  paper,  but  all  the  material  he  had  amassed  had 
escaped  him.  After  trying  for  an  hour,  and  after  fill- 
ing five  pages  with  sentences  which  had  no  connec- 
tion one  with  the  other,  he  said:  "I  am  not  yet 
familiar  with  the  work.  I  must  take  another  les- 
son." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  he  rang  the 
bell,  at  his  friend's  house.  The  servant  who  opened 
the  door,  said:     "Monsieur  is  busy." 

Duroy  had  not  expected  to  find  Forestier  at  home. 
However  he  said:  "Tell  him  it  is  M.  Duroy  on  im- 
portant business." 

In  the  course  of  five  minutes  he  was  ushered  into 
the  room  in  which  he  had  spent  so  happy  a  morn- 
ing. In  the  place  Mme.  Forestier  had  occupied,  her 
husband  was  seated  writing,  while  Mme.  Forestier 
stood  by  the  mantelpiece  and  dictated  to  him,  a  ciga- 
rette between  her  lips. 

Duroy  paused  upon  the  threshold  and  murmured: 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  interrupting  you." 

His  friend  growled  angrily:  "What  do  you  wanl 
again?     Make  haste;  we  are  busy." 


BEL-AMI 


31 


Georges  stammered:     "It  is  nothing." 

But  Forestier  persisted:  "Come,  we  are  losing 
time;  you  did  not  force  your  way  into  the  house  for 
the  pleasure  of  bidding  us  good  morning." 

Duroy,  in  confusion,  repHed:  "No,  it  is  this:  I 
cannot  complete  my  article,  and  you  were  —  so  —  so 
kind  the  last  time  that  I  hoped  —  that  I  dared  to 
come  —  " 

Forestier  interrupted  with:  "So  you  think  1  will 
do  your  work  and  that  you  have  only  to  take  the 
money.  Well,  that  is  fine!"  His  wife  smoked  on 
without  interfering. 

Duroy  hesitated:  "Excuse  me.  I  believed  —  I  — 
thought  — "  Then,  in  a  clear  voice,  he  said:  "I  beg 
a  thousand  pardons,  Madame,  and  thank  you  very 
much  for  the  charming  article  you  wrote  for  me  yes- 
terday." Then  he  bowed,  and  said  to  Charles:  "1 
will  be  at  the  office  at  three  o'clock." 

He  returned  home  saying  to  himself:  "Very  well, 
I  will  write  it  alone  and  they  shall  see."  Scarcely 
had  he  entered  than  he  began  to  write,  anger  spur- 
ring him  on.  In  an  hour  he  had  finished  an  article, 
which  was  a  chaos  of  absurd  matter,  and  took  it 
boldly  to  the  office.  Duroy  handed  Forestier  his  manu- 
script.    "Here  is  the  rest  of  Algeria." 

"Very  well,  1  will  hand  it  to  the  manager.  That 
will  do." 

When  Duroy  and  Saint-Potin,  who  had  some  po- 
litical information  to  look  up,  were  in  the  hall,  the 
latter  asked:   "  Have  you  been  to  the  cashier's  room?" 

"No,  why?" 

"Why?  To  get  your  pay?  You  should  always 
get  your  salary  a  month  in  advance.     One  cannot  tell 


38 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


what  might  happen.  I  will  introduce  you  to  the 
cashier." 

Duroy  drew  his  two  hundred  francs  together  with 
twenty-eight  francs  for  his  article  of  the  preceding 
day,  which,  in  addition  to  what  remained  to  him  of 
his  salary  from  the  railroad  office,  left  him  three 
hundred  and  forty  francs.  He  had  never  had  so 
much,  and  he  thought  himself  rich  for  an  indefinite 
time.  Saint-Potin  took  him  to  the  offices  of  four  or 
five  rival  papers,  hoping  that  the  news  he  had  been 
commissioned  to  obtain  had  been  already  received  by 
them  and  that  he  could  obtain  it  by  means  of  his 
diplomacy. 

When  evening  came,  Duroy,  who  had  nothing 
more  to  do,  turned  toward  the  Folies-Bergeres,  and 
walking  up  to  the  office,  he  said:  "My  name  is 
Georges  Duroy.  I  am  on  the  staff  of  '  La  Vie  Fran- 
^aise.'  I  was  here  the  other  night  with  M.  Forestier, 
who  promised  to  get  me  a  pass.  I  do  not  know  if 
he  remembered  it." 

The  register  was  consulted,  but  his  name  was  not 
inscribed  upon  it.  However,  the  cashier,  a  very  affable 
man,  said  to  him:  "Come  in,  M.  Duroy,  and  speak 
to  the  manager  yourself;  he  will  see  that  everything 
is  all  right." 

He  entered  and  almost  at  once  came  upon  Ra- 
chel, the  woman  he  had  seen  there  before.  She  ap- 
proached him:  "Good  evening,  my  dear;  are  you 
well?" 

"Very  well;  how  are  you?" 

"1  am  not  ill.  1  have  dreamed  of  you  twice  since 
the  other  night." 

Duroy  smiled.     "What  does  that  mean?" 


BEL-AMI 


39 


•'That  means  that  I  like  you";  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  young  man's  face,  took  his  arm  and  leaning 
upon  it,  said:  "Let  us  drink  a  glass  of  wine  and 
then  take  a  walk.  I  should  like  to  go  to  the  opera 
like  this,  with  you,  to  show  you  off." 


At  daybreak  he  again  sallied  forth  to  obtain  a 
"Vie  Fran^aise."  He  opened  the  paper  feverishly; 
his  article  was  not  there.  On  entering  the  office 
several  hours  later,  he  said  to  M.  Walter:  "1  was 
very  much  surprised  this  morning  not  to  see  my  sec- 
ond article  on  Algeria." 

The  manager  raised  his  head  and  said  sharply: 
"1  gave  it  to  your  friend,  Forestier,  and  asked  him 
to  read  it;  he  was  dissatisfied  with  it;  it  will  have 
to  be  done  over." 

Without  a  word,  Duroy  left  the  room,  and  enter- 
ing his  friend's  office,  brusquely  asked:  "Why  did 
not  my  article  appear  this  morning.?" 

The  journalist,  who  was  smoking  a  cigar,  said 
calmly:  "The  manager  did  not  consider  it  good,  and 
bade  me  return  it  to  you  to  be  revised.  There  it  is." 
Duroy  revised  it  several  times,  only  to  have  it  re- 
jected. He  said  nothing  more  of  his  "souvenirs," 
but  gave  his  whole  attention  to  reporting.  He  be- 
came acquainted  behind  the  scenes  at  the  theaters, 
and  in  the  halls  and  corridors  of  the  chamber  of 
deputies;  he  knew  all  the  cabinet  ministers,  generals, 
police  agents,  princes,  ambassadors,  men  of  the 
world,  Greeks,  cabmen,  waiters  at  cafes,  and  many 
others.  In  short  he  soon  became  a  remarkable  re- 
porter, of  great  value  to  the  paper,  so  M.  Walter  said. 


40  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But  as  he  only  received  ten  centimes  a  line  in  addi- 
tion to  his  fixed  salary  of  two  hundred  francs  and  as 
his  expenses  were  large,  he  never  had  a  sou.  When 
he  saw  certain  of  his  associates  with  their  pockets 
ful'  of  money,  he  wondered  what  secret  means  they 
employed  in  order  to  obtain  it.  He  determined  to 
penetrate  that  mystery,  to  enter  into  the  association, 
to  obtrude  himself  upon  his  comrades,  and  make  them 
share  with  him.  Often  at  evening,  as  he  watched 
the  trains  pass  his  window,  he  dreamed  of  the  con- 
duct he  might  pursue. 


CHAPTER  V. 
The  First  Intrigue 


•wo   months    elapsed.     It  was    Sep 
tember.    The  fortune  which  Duroy 
had    hoped   to    make    so    rapidly 
seemed  to  him  slow  in  coming.  Above 
all  he  was  dissatisfied  with  the  medi- 
ocrity of  his    position;    he  was  appre- 
ciated,   but    was    treated    according   to 
his    rank.      Forestier   himself  no   longer 
invited  him  to  dinner,  and  treated  him  as 

\^  y  an  inferior.  Often  he  had  thought  of  mak- 
•y^  ing  Mme.  Forestier  a  visit,  but  the  remem- 
brance of  their  last  meeting  restrained  him. 
Mme.  de  Marelle  had  invited  him  to  call,  saying: 
"I  am  always  at  home  about  three  o'clock."  So 
one  afternoon,  when  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  pro- 
ceeded toward  her  house.  She  lived  on  Rue  Verneuil, 
on  the  fourth  floor.  A  maid  answered  his  summons, 
and  said:  "Yes,  Madame  is  at  home,  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  she  has  risen."  She  conducted  Duroy  into 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  large,  poorly  furnished, 
and  somewhat  untidy.  The  shabby,  threadbare  chairs 
were  ranged  along  the  walls  according  to  the  serv- 
ant's fancy,    for  there  was   not  a   trace   visible   of  the 

(41) 


42 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


care  of  a  woman  who  loves  her  home.  Duroy  took 
a  seat  and  waited  some  time.  Then  a  door  opened 
and  Mme.  de  Marelle  entered  hastily,  clad  in  a  Jap- 
anese dressing-gown.     She  exclaimed: 

"How  kind  of  you  to  come  to  see  me.  1  was 
positive  you  had  forgotten  me."  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  him  with  a  gesture  of  delight;  and  Duroy, 
quite  at  his  ease  in  that  shabby  apartment,  kissed  it 
as  he  had  seen  Norbert  de  Varenne  do. 

Examining  him  froni  head  to  foot,  she  cried: 
"How  you  have  changed!     Well,  tell  me  the  news." 

They  began  to  chat  at  once  as  if  they  were  old 
acquaintances,  and  in  five  minutes  an  intimacy,  a  mu- 
tual understanding,  was  established  between  those 
two  beings  alike  in  character  and  kind.  Suddenly 
the  young  woman  said  in  surprise:  "It  is  astonish- 
ing how  I  feel  with  you.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had 
known  you  ten  years.  We  shall  undoubtedly  become 
good  friends;  would  that  please  you.?" 

He  replied:  "Certainly,"  with  a  smile  more  ex- 
pressive  than  words.  He  thought  her  very  bewitch- 
ing in  her  pretty  gown.  When  near  Mme.  Forestier, 
whose  impassive,  gracious  smile  attracted  yet  held 
at  a  distance,  and  seemed  to  say:  "I  like  you,  yet 
take  care,"  he  felt  a  desire  to  cast  himself  at  her 
feet,  or  to  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment.  When  near 
Mme.  de  Marelle,  he  felt  a  more  passionate  desire. 

A  gentle  rap  came  at  the  door  through  which 
Mme.  de  Marelle  had  entered,  and  she  cried:  "You 
may  come  in,  my  darling." 

The  child  entered,  advanced  to  Duroy  and  offered 
him  her  hand.  The  astonished  mother  murmured: 
"Thai     is    a    conquest."      The    young    man,    having 


BEL- A  MI 


43 


kissed  the  child,  seated  her  by  his  side,  and  with  a 
serious  air  questioned  her  as  to  what  she  had  done 
since  they  last  met.  She  replied  in  a  flute-like  voice 
and  with  the  manner  of  a  woman.  The  clock  struck 
three;  the  journalist  rose. 

"Come  often,"  said  Mme.  de  Marelle;  "it  has 
been  a  pleasant  causerie.  I  shall  always  be  glad  to 
welcome  you.  Why  do  I  never  meet  you  at  the 
Forestiers.'*" 

"For  no  particular  reason.  1  am  very  busy.  I 
hope,  however,  that  we  shall  meet  there  one  of  these 
days." 

in  the  course  of  a  few  days  he  paid  another  visit 
to  the  enchantress.  The  maid  ushered  him  into  the 
drawing-room  and  Laurine  soon  entered;  she  offered 
him  not  her  hand  but  her  forehead,  and  said: 
"Mamma  wishes  me  to  ask  you  to  wait  for  her 
about  fifteen  minutes,  for  she  is  not  dressed.  1  will 
keep  you  company/' 

Duroy,  who  was  amused  at  the  child's  ceremo- 
nious manner,  replied:  "Indeed,  Mademoiselle,  I 
shall  be  enchanted  to  spend  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
with  you."  When  the  mother  entered  they  were  in 
the  midst  of  an  exciting  game,  and  Mme.  de  Marelle 
paused  in  amazement,  crying:  "Laurine  playing? 
You  are  a  sorcerer,  sir!"  He  placed  the  child,  whom 
he  had  caught  in  his  arms,  upon  the  floor,  kissed  the 
lady's  hand,  and  they  seated  themselves,  the  child  be- 
tween them.  They  tried  to  converse,  but  Laurine, 
usually  so  silent,  monopolized  the  conversation,  and 
her  mother  was  compelled  to  send   her   to  her  room. 

When  they  were  alone,  Mme.  de  Marelle  lowered 
her  voice  and  said:     "I    have   a   great    project.     It   is 


44 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


this:  As  I  dine  every  week  at  tlie  Forestiers',  I  re- 
turn it  from  time  to  time  by  inviting  tliem  to  a  res- 
taurant. I  do  not  like  to  have  company  at  home; 
I  am  not  so  situated  that  I  can  have  any.  I  know 
nothing  about  housekeeping  or  cooking.  I  prefer  a 
life  free  from  care;  therefore  1  invite  them  to  the  cafe 
occasionally;  but  it  is  not  lively  when  we  are  only 
three.  1  am  telling  you  this  in  order  to  explain  such 
an  informal  gathering.  I  should  like  you  to  be  pres- 
ent at  our  Saturdays  at  the  Cafe  Riche  at  seven- 
thirty.     Do  you  know  the  house?" 

Duroy  accepted  gladly.  He  left  her  in  a  transport 
of  delight  and  impatiently  awaited  the  day  of  the 
dinner.  He  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  place  appointed 
and  vv'as  shown  into  a  small  private  room,  in  which 
the  table  was  laid  for  four;  that  table  looked  very 
inviting  with  its  colored  glasses,  -silver,  and  cande- 
labra. 

Duroy  seated  himself  upon  a  low  bench.  Fores- 
tier  entered  and  shook  hands  with  him  with  a  cor- 
diality he   never  evinced  at  the  office. 

"The  two  ladies  will  come  together,"  said  he. 
"These  dinners  are  truly  delightful." 

Very  soon  the  door  opened  and  Mesdames  Fores- 
tier  and  De  Marelle  appeared,  heavily  veiled,  surrounded 
by  the  charming  mystery  necessary  to  a  rendezvous 
in  a  place  so  public.  As  Duroy  greeted  the  former, 
she  took  him  to  task  for  not  having  been  to  see 
her;  then  she  added  with  a  smile:  "Ah,  you  prefer 
Mme.  de  Marelle;  the  time  passes  more  pleasantly 
with  her." 

When  the  waiter  handed  the  wine-list  to  Fores- 
tier.   Mme.  de  Marelle  exclaimed:    "Bring  the  gentle- 


BEL-AMI 


45 


men  whatever  they  want;  as  for  us,  we  want  nothing 
but  champagne." 

Forestier,  who  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her, 
asked:  "Do  you  object  to  my  closing  the  window? 
My  cough  has  troubled  me  for  several  days." 

"Not  at  all." 

His  wife  did  not  speak.  The  various  courses 
were  duly  served  and  then  the  guests  began  to  chat. 
They  discussed  a  scandal  which  was  being  circulated 
about  a  society  belle.  Forestier  was  very  much 
amused  by  it.  Duroy  said  with  a  smile:  "How  many 
would  abandon  themselves  to  a  caprice,  a  dream  of 
love,  if  they  did  not  fear  that  they  would  pay  for  a 
brief  happiness  with  tears  and  an  irremediable  scandal  ?" 

Both  women  glanced  at  him  approvingly.  For- 
estier cried  with  a  sceptical  laugh:  "The  poor  hus- 
bands!" Then  they  talked  of  love.  Duroy  said: 
"When  I  love  a  woman,  everything  else  in  the 
world  is  forgotten." 

Mme.  Forestier  murmured:  "There  is  no  happi- 
ness comparable  to  that  first  clasp  of  the  hand,  when 
one  asks:  'Do  you  love  mt?'  and  the  other  replies; 
'Yes,  I  love  you.'"  Mme.  de  Marelle  cried  gaily  as 
she  drank  a  glass  of  champagne:  "1  am  less  Platonic." 

Forestier,  lying  upon  the  couch,  said  in  serious 
tone:  "That  frankness  does  you  honor  and  proves 
you  to  be  a  practical  woman.  But  might  one  ask, 
What  is  M.  de  Marelle's  opinion?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  disdainfully  and  said: 
"M.  de  Marelle  has  no  opinion  on  that  subject." 

The  conversation  grew  slow.  Mme.  de  Marelle 
seemed  to  offer  provocation  by  her  remarks,  while 
Mme.    Forestier's    charming    reserve,    the    modesty   in 


^6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

her  voice,  in  her  smile,  all  seemed  to  extenuate  the 
bold  sallies  which  issued  from  her  lips.  The  dessert 
came  and  then  followed  the  coffee.  The  hostess  and 
her  guests  lighted  cigarettes,  but  Forestier  suddenly 
began  to  cough.  When  the  attack  was  over,  he 
growled  angrily:  "These  parties  are  not  good  for 
me;  they  are  stupid.     Let  us  go  home." 

Mme.  de  Marelle  summoned  the  waiter  and  asked 
for  her  bill.  She  tried  to  read  it,  but  the  figures 
danced  before  her  eyes;  she  handed  the  paper  to 
Duroy. 

"Here,  pay  it  for  me;  I  cannot  see."  At  the  same 
time,  she  put  her  purse  in  his  hand. 

The  total  was  one  hundred  and  thirty  francs. 
Duroy  glanced  at  the  bill  and  when  it  was  settled, 
whispered:     "How  much  shall  1  give  the  waiter?" 

"Whatever  you  like;  1  do  not  know." 

He  laid  five  francs  upon  the  plate  and  handed  the 
purse  to  its  owner,  saying:  "Shall  1  escort  you 
home.?" 

"Certainly;  I  am  unable  to  find  the  house." 

They  shook  hands  with  the  Forestiers  and  were 
soon  rolling  along  in  a  cab  side  by  side.  Duroy  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say;  he  felt  impelled  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms.  "If!  should  dare,  what  would  she  do?" 
thought  he.  The  recollection  of  their  conversation  at 
dinner  emboldened,  but  the  fear  of  scandal  restrained 
him.  Mme.  de  Marelle  reclined  silently  in  her  corner. 
He  would  have  thought  her  asleep,  had  he  not  seen 
her  eyes  glisten  whenever  a  ray  of  light  penetrated 
the  dark  recesses  of  the  carriage.  Of  what  was  she 
thinking?  Suddenly  she  moved  her  foot,  nervously, 
impatiently.     That  movement  caused  him  to  tremble, 


BEL- A  M  I 


47 


and  turning  quickly,  he  cast  himself  upon  her,  seek- 
ing her  lips  with  his.  She  uttered  a  cry,  attempted 
to  repulse  him  and  then  yielded  to  his  caresses  as  if 
she  had  not  the  strength  to  resist. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  her  door,  but  she  did  not 
rise;  she  did  not  move,  stunned  by  what  had  just 
taken  place.  Fearing  that  the  cabman  would  mistrust 
something,  Duroy  alighted  from  the  cab  first  and 
offered  his  hand  to  the  young  woman.  Finally  she 
got  out,  but  in  silence.  Georges  rang  the  bell,  and 
when  the  door  was  opened,  he  asked  timidly: 
"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

She  whispered  so  low  that  he  could  barely  hear 
her:  "Come  and  lunch  with  me  to-morrow."  With 
those  words  she  disappeared. 

Duroy  gave  the  cabman  a  five-franc  piece,  and 
turned  away  with  a  triumphant,  joyful  air.  He  had 
at  last  conquered  a  married  woman!  A  woman  of 
the  world!     A  Parisian!     How  easy  it  had  been! 

He  was  somewhat  nervous  the  following  day  as 
he  ascended  Mme.  de  Marelle's  staircase.  How  would 
she  receive  him  ?  Suppose  she  forbade  him  to  enter 
her  house?  If  she  had  told  —  but  no,  she  could  not 
tell  anything  without  telling  the  whole  truth!  He 
was  master  of  the  situation! 

The  little  maid-servant  opened  the  door.  She  was 
as  pleasant  as  usual.  Duroy  felt  reassured  and  asked: 
"Is  Madame  well?" 

"Yes,  sir;  as  well  as  she  always  is,"  was  the 
reply,  and  he  was  ushered  into  the  salon.  He  walked 
to  the  mantelpiece  to  see  what  kind  of  an  appear- 
ance he  presented:  he  was  readjusting  his  cravat 
when  he  saw  in  the  mirror  the  young  woman  stand- 


48 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


ing  on  the  threshold  looking  at  him.  He  pretended 
not  to  have  seen  her,  and  for  several  moments  they 
gazed  at  one  another  in  the  mirror.  Then  he  turned. 
She  had  not  moved;  she  seemed  to  be  waiting.  He 
rushed  toward  her  crying:  "How  I  love  you!"  He 
clasped  her  to  his  breast.  He  thought:  "It  is  easier 
than  I  thought  it  would  be.  All  is  well."  He  looked 
at  her  with  a  smile,  without  uttering  a  word,  trying 
to  put  into  his  glance  a  wealth  of  love.  She  too 
smiled  and  murmured:  "We  are  alone.  I  sent  tau- 
rine to  lunch  with  a  friend." 

He  sighed,  and  kissing  her  wrists  said:  "Thanks; 
I  adore  you."  She  took  his  arm  as  if  he  had  been 
her  husband,  and  led  him  to  a  couch,  upon  which  they 
seated  themselves  side  by  side.  Duroy  stammered, 
incoherently:     "You  do  not  care  for  me." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips.     "Be  silent!" 

"How  I  love  you!"  said  he. 

She  repeated:     "Be  silent!" 

They  could  hear  the  servant  laying  the  table  in 
the  dining-room.  He  rose:  "I  cannot  sit  so  near 
you.     1  shall  lose  my  head." 

The  door  opened:     "Madame  is  served!" 

He  offered  her  his  arm  gravely.  They  lunched 
without  knowing  what  they  were  eating.  The  serv- 
ant came  and  went  without  seeming  to  notice  any- 
thing. When  the  meal  was  finished,  they  returned 
to  the  drawing-room  and  resumed  their  seats  on  the 
couch  side  by  side.  Gradually  he  drew  nearer  her 
and  tried  to  embrace  her. 

"Be  careful,  some  one  might  come  in." 

He  whispered:  "When  can  1  see  you  alone  to 
tell  you  how  1  love  you?" 


BEL- AMI 


49 


She  leaned  toward  him  and  said  softly:  "1  will 
pay  you  a  visit  one  of  these  days." 

He  colored.  "My  rooms  —  are  —  are  —  very  mod- 
est." 

She  smiled:  "That  makes  no  difference.  1  shall 
come  to  see  you  and  not  your  rooms." 

He  urged  her  to  tell  him  when  she  would  come. 
She  fixed  a  day  in  the  following  week,  while  he  be- 
sought her  with  glowing  eyes  to  hasten  the  day.  She 
was  amused  to  see  him  implore  so  ardently  and 
yielded  a  day  at  a  time.  He  repeated:  "To-morrow, 
say  —  to-morrow."  Finally  she  consented.  "  Yes,  to- 
morrow at  five  o'clock." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath;  then  they  chatted  together 
as  calmly  as  if  they  had  known  one  another  for 
twenty  years.  A  ring  caused  them  to  start;  they 
separated.     She  murmured:   "It  is  Laurine." 

The  child  entered,  paused  in  surprise,  then  ran 
toward  Duroy  clapping  her  hands,  delighted  to  see 
him,  and  crying:  "Ah,  'Bel-Ami!'" 

Mme.  de  Marelle  laughed.  "Bel-Ami!  Laurine  has 
christened  you.  It  is  a  pretty  name.  I  shall  call  you 
Bel-Ami,  too!" 

He  took  the  child  upon  his  knee.  At  twenty  min- 
utes of  three  he  rose  to  go  to  the  office;  at  the  half- 
open  door  he  whispered:  "To-morrow,  five  o'clock." 
The  young  woman  replied:  "Yes,"  with  a  smile  and 
disappeared. 

After  he  had  finished  his  journalistic  work,  he  tried 
to  render  his  apartments  more  fit  to  receive  his  ex- 
pected visitor.  He  was  well  satisfied  with  the  results 
of  his  efforts  and  retired,  lulled  to  rest  by  the  whist- 
ling of  the  trains.     Early  the  next  morning  he  bought 

7    G.  de  M. — 4 


50 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


a  cake  and  a  bottle  of  Madeira.  He  spread  the  colla- 
tion on  his  dressing-table  which  was  covered  with  a 
napkin.  Then  he  waited.  She  came  at  a  quarter 
past  five  and  exclaimed  as  she  entered:  "Why,  it  is 
nice  here.  But  there  were  a  great  many  people  on 
the  stairs." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  hair.  An 
hour  and  a  half  later  he  escorted  her  to  a  cab-stand 
on  the  Rue  de  Rome.  When  she  was  seated  in  the 
cab,  he  whispered:   "Tuesday,  at  the  same  hour." 

She  repeated  his  words,  and  as  it  was  night,  she 
kissed  him.  Then  as  the  cabman  started  up  his 
horse,  she  cried:  "Adieu,  Bel-Ami!"  and  the  old 
coupe  rumbled  off. 

For  three  weeks  Duroy  received  Mme.  de  Marelle 
every  two  or  three  days,  sometimes  in  the  morning, 
sometimes  in  the  evening. 

As  he  was  awaiting  her  one  afternoon,  a  noise  on 
the  staircase  drew  him  to  his  door.  A  child  screamed. 
A  man's  angry  voice  cried:  "What  is  the  brat  howl- 
ing about  ?" 

A  woman's  voice  replied:  "Nicolas  has  been 
tripped  up  on  the  landing-place  by  the  journalist's 
sweetheart." 

Duroy  retreated,  for  he  heard  the  rustling  of  skirts. 
Soon  there  was  a  knock  at  his  door,  which  he 
opened,  and  Mme.  de  Marelle  rushed  in,  crying:  "Did 
you  hcar.^"     Georges  feigned  ignorance  of  the  matter. 

"No;  what?" 

"How  they  insulted  me?" 

"Who?" 

"Those  miserable  people  below." 

"Why,  no;  what  is  it?    Tell  me." 


BEL-AMI  51 

She  sobbed  and  could  not  speak.  He  was  forced 
to  place  her  upon  his  bed  and  to  lay  a  damp  cloth 
upon  her  temples.  When  she  grew  calmer,  anger 
succeeded  her  agitation.  She  wanted  Duroy  to  go 
downsitairs  at  once,  to  fight  them,  to  kill  them. 

He  replied:  "They  are  working-people.  Just 
think,  it  would  be  necessary  to  go  to  court  where 
you  would  be  recognized;  one  must  not  compromise 
oneself  with  such  people." 

She  said:  "What  shall  we  do  .^  1  cannot  come 
here  again." 

He  replied:    "That  is  very  simple.     I  will  move." 

She  murmured:  "Yes,  but  that  will  take  some 
time." 

Suddenly  she  said:  "Listen  to  me,  1  have  found  a 
means;  do  not  worry  about  it.  I  will  send  you  a 
'little  blue'  to-morrow  morning."  She  called  a  tele- 
gram a  "little  blue." 

She  smiled  with  delight  at  her  plans,  which  she 
would  not  reveal.  She  was,  however,  very  much  af- 
fected as  she  descended  the  staircase  and  leaned  with 
all  her  strength  upon  her  lover's  arm.  They  met  no 
one. 

He  was  still  in  bed  the  following  morning  when 
the  promised  telegram  was  handed  him.  Duroy 
opened  it  and  read: 

"Come  at  five  o'clock  to  Rue  de  Constantinople,  No.  127.  Ask 
for  the  room  rented  by  Mme.  Duroy.  Clo." 

At  five  o'clock  precisely  he  entered  a  large  fur- 
nished house  and  asked  the  janitor;  "Has  Mrne.  Du- 
roy hired  a  room  here?" 

♦•Y?s,  sir," 


52 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE  MAUPASSANT 


"Will  you  show  me  to  it,  if  you  please?" 

The  man,  accustomed  no  doubt  to  situations  in 
which  it  was  necessary  to  be  prudent,  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eyes;  then  selecting  a  key,  he  asked: 
"Are  you  M,  Duroy?" 

"Certainly." 

He  opened  a  small  suite,  comprising  two  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor. 

Duroy  thought  uneasily:  "This  will  cost  a  fortune. 
I  shall  have  to  run  into  debt.  She  has  done  a  very 
foolish  thing." 

The  door  opened  and  Clotilde  rushed  in.  She 
was  enchanted.  "  Is  it  not  fine  ?  There  are  no  stairs 
to  climb;  it  is  on  the  ground  floor!  One  could  come 
and  go  through  the  window  without  the  porter  see- 
ing one." 

He  embraced  her  nervously,  not  daring  to  ask  the 
question  that  hovered  upon  his  lips.  She  had  placed 
a  large  package  on  the  stand  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  Opening  it  she  took  out  a  tablet  of  soap,  a 
bottle  of  Lubin's  extract,  a  sponge,  a  box  of  hair- 
pins, a  button-hook,  and  curling-tongs.  Then  she 
amused  herself  by  finding  places  in  which  to  put 
them. 

She  talked  incessantly  as  she  opened  the  drawers: 
"1  must  bring  some  linen  in  order  to  have  a  change. 
We  shall  each  have  a  key,  besides  the  one  at  the 
lodge,  in  case  we  should  forget  ours.  1  rented  the 
apartments  for  three  months — in  your  name,  of 
course,  for  1  could  not  give  mine." 

Then  he  asked:  "Will  you  tell  me  when  to 
pay?" 

She  replied  simply:     "It  is  paid,  my  dear." 


B  E  1. .  A  M  I 


53 


He  made  a  pretense  of  being  angry:  "I  cannot 
permit  tiiat." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  said  in  a 
supplicatory  tone:  "Georges,  it  will  give  me  pleasure 
to  have  the  nest  mine.  Say  that  you  do  not  care, 
dear  Georges, "  and  he  yielded.  When  she  had  left 
him,  he  murmured:  "She  is  kind-hearted,  any- 
way." 

Several  days  later  he  received  a  telegram  which 
read: 

"My  husband  is  coming  home  this  evening.  We  shall  therefore 
not  meet  for  a  week.     What  a  bore,   my  dearest ! 

"Your  Clo." 

Duroy  was  startled;  he  had  not  realized  the  fact 
that  Mme.  de  Marelle  was  married.  He  impatiently 
awaited  her  husband's  departure.  One  morning  he 
received  the  following  telegram: 

"Five  o'clock.  —  Clo." 

When  they  met,  she  rushed  into  his  arms,  kissed 
him  passionately,  and  asked:  "After  a  while  will 
you  take  me  to  dine?" 

"Certainly,    my    darling,    wherever    you    wish    to 

go-" 

"I  should  like  to  go  to  some  restaurant  frequented 
by  the  working-classes." 

They  repaired  to  a  wine  merchant's  where  meals 
were  also  served.  Clotilde's  entrance  caused  a  sen- 
sation on  account  of  the  elegance  of  her  dress.  They 
partook  of  a  ragout  of  mutton  and  left  that  place  to 
enter  a  ball-room  in  which  she  pressed    more    closely 


54 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


to  his  side.  In  fifteen  minutes  her  curiosity  was  sat- 
isfied and  he  conducted  her  home.  Then  followed  a 
series  of  visits  to  all  sorts  of  places  of  amusement. 
Duroy  soon  began  to  tire  of  those  expeditions,  for 
he  had  exhausted  all  his  resources  and  all  means 
of  obtaining  money.  In  addition  to  that  he  owed 
Forestier  a  hundred  francs,  Jacques  Rival  three  hun- 
dred, and  he  was  hampered  with  innumerable  petty 
debts  ranging  from  twenty  francs  to  one  hundred 
sous. 

On  the  fourteenth  of  December,  he  was  left  without 
a  sou  in  his  pocket.  As  he  had  often  done  before,  he 
did  not  lunch,  and  spent  the  afternoon  working  at 
the  office.  At  four  o'clock  he  received  a  telegram 
from  Mme.  de  Marelle,  saying:  "Shall  we  dine  to- 
gether and  afterward  have  a  frolic?" 

He  replied  at  once:  "Impossible  to  dine,"  then  he 
added:  "But  I  will  expect  you  at  our  apartments  at 
nine  o'clock."  Having  sent  a  boy  with  the  note  in 
order  to  save  the  money  for  a  telegram,  he  tried  to 
think  of  some  way  by  which  he  could  obtain  his 
evening  meal.  He  waited  until  all  of  his  associates 
had  gone  and  when  he  was  alone,  he  rang  for  the 
porter,  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  said:  "  Fou- 
cart,  I  have  left  my  purse  at  home  and  I  have  to 
dine  at  the  Luxembourg.  Lend  me  fifty  sous  to  pay 
for  my  cab." 

The  man  handed  him  three  francs  and  asked: 

"Is  that  enough  ?  " 

"Yes,  thank  you."  Taking  the  coins,  Duroy 
rushed  down   the  staircase   and  dined   at  a  cookshop. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Mme.  de  Marelle,  whom  he 
awaited   in   the   tiny   salon,    arrived.     She   wished    to 


BEL- AMI 


55 


take  a  walk  and  he  objected.  His  opposition  irri- 
tated her. 

"I  shall  go  alone,  then.     Adieu!" 

Seeing  that  the  situation  was  becoming  grave,  he 
seized  her  hands  and  kissed  them,  saying: 

"Pardon  me,  darling;  I  am  nervous  and  out  of 
sorts  this  evening.  I  have  been  annoyed  by  business 
matters." 

Somewhat   appeased   but    still    vexed,  she   replied: 

"That  does  not  concern  me;  1  will  not  be  the 
butt  for  your  ill  humor." 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  murmured  his 
apologies.     Still  she  persisted  in  her  desire  to  go  out. 

"  I  beseech  you,  remain  here  by  the  fire  with  me. 
Say  yes." 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  will  not  yield  to  your 
caprices." 

He  insisted:  "I  have  a  reason,  a  serious  rea- 
son— " 

"If  you  will  not  go  with  me,  I  shall  go  alone. 
Adieu!" 

She  disengaged  herself  from  his  embrace  and  fled 
to  the  door.     He  followed  her: 

"Listen  Go,  my  little  Clo,  listen  to  me — " 

She  shook  her  head,  evaded  his  caresses  and  tried 
to  escape  from  his  encircling  arms. 

"  I  have  a  reason  — " 

Looking  him  in  the  face,  she  said:  "You  lie! 
What  is  \t?" 

He  colored,  and  in  order  to  avoid  a  rupture,  con- 
fessed in  accents  of  despair:     "1  have  no  money!" 

She  would  not  believe  him  until  he  had  turned  all 
his  pockets  inside  out,  to  prove  his  words.     Then  she 


56  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

fell  upon  his  breast:  "Oh,  my  poor  darling!  Had  I 
known!      How  did  it  happen?" 

He  invented  a  touching  story  to  this  effect:  That 
his  father  was  in  straitened  circumstances,  that  he 
had  given  him  not  only  his  savings,  but  had  run 
himself  into  debt, 

"I    shall   have  to  starve  for  the  next  six  months." 

"Shall  I  lend  you  some?"  she  whispered. 

He  replied  with  dignity:  "You  are  very  kind, 
dearest;  but  do  not  mention  that  again;  it  wounds 
me. 

She  murmured:  "You  will  never  know  how 
much  I  love  you."  On  taking  leave  of  him,  she 
asked:  "Shall  we  meet  again  the  day  after  to- 
morrow?" 

"  Certainly." 

"At  the  same  time?" 

"Yes,  my  darling." 

They  parted. 

When  Duroy  opened  his  bedroom  door  and  fum- 
bled in  his  vest  pocket  for  a  match,  he  was  amazed 
to  find  in  it  a  piece  of  money  —  a  twenty-franc 
piece!  At  first  he  wondered  by  what  miracle  it 
had  got  there;  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that 
Mme.  de  Marelle  had  given  him  alms!  Angry  and 
humiliated,  he  determined  to  return  it  when  next 
they  met.  The  next  morning  it  was  late  when  he 
awoke;  he  tried  to  overcome  his  hunger.  He  went 
out  and  as  he  passed  the  restaurants  he  could 
scarcely  resist  their  temptations.  At  noon  he  said: 
"Bah,  I  shall  lunch  upon  Clotilde's  twenty  francs; 
that  will  not  hinder  me  from  returning  the  money 
to-morrow." 


BEL-AMI 


57 


He  ate  his  lunch,  for  which  he  paid  two  francs 
fifty,  and  on  entering  the  office  of  "La  Vie  Fran- 
9aise"  he  repaid  the  porter  the  three  francs  he  had 
borrowed  from  him.  He  worked  until  seven  o'clock, 
then  he  dined,  and  he  continued  to  draw  upon  the 
twenty  francs  until  only  four  francs  twenty  remained. 
He  decided  to  say  to  Mme.  de  Marelle  upon  her 
arrival: 

"I  found  the  twenty-franc  piece  you  slipped  into 
my  pocket.  I  will  not  return  the  money  to-day,  but 
1  will  repay  you  when  we  next  meet." 

When  Madame  came,  he  dared  not  broach  the 
delicate  subject.  They  spent  the  evening  together 
and  appointed  their  next  meeting  for  Wednesday  of 
the  following  week,  for  Mme.  de  Marelle  had  a  num- 
ber of  engagements.  Duroy  continued  to  accept 
money  from  Clotilde  and  quieted  his  conscience  by 
assuring  himself:  "  I  will  give  it  back  in  a  lump.  It 
is  nothing  but  borrowed  money  anyway."  So  he  kept 
account  of  all  that  he  received  in  order  to  pay  it  back 
some  day. 

One  evening,  Mme.  de  Marelle  said  to  him: 
"Would  you  believe  that  I  have  never  been  to  the 
Folies-Bergeres;  will  you  take  me  there?" 

He  hesitated,  fearing  a  meeting  with  Rachel.  Then 
he  thought:  "Bah,  I  am  not  married  after  all.  If  she 
should  see  me,  she  would  take  m  the  situation  and 
not  accost  me.     Moreover,  we  would  have  a  box." 

When  they  entered  the  hall,  it  was  crowded;  with 
difficulty  they  made  their  way  to  their  seats.  Mme. 
de  Marelle  did  not  look  at  the  stage;  she  was  in- 
terested in  watching  the  women  who  were  prome- 
nading,   and   she   felt   an   irresistible   desire   to    touch 


58 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


them,  to  see  of  what  those  beings  were  made.  Sud- 
denly she  said: 

"There  is  a  large  brunette  who  stares  at  us  all 
the  time.  I  think  every  minute  she  will  speak  to  us. 
Have  you  seen   her.?" 

He  replied:    "No,  you  are  mistaken." 

He  told  an  untruth,  for  he  had  noticed  the  woman, 
who  was  no  other  than  Rachel,  with  anger  in  her 
eyes  and  violent  words  upon  her  lips. 

Duroy  had  passed  her  when  he  and  Mme.  de  Ma- 
relle  entered  and  she  had  said  to  him:  "Good  even- 
ing," in  a  low  voice  and  with  a  wink  which  said  *•  1 
understand."  But  he  had  not  replied;  for  fear  of  be- 
ing seen  by  his  sweetheart  he  passed  her  coldly, 
disdainfully.  The  woman,  her  jealousy  aroused,  fol- 
lowed the  couple  and  said  in  a  louder  key:  "Good 
evening,  Georges."  He  paid  no  heed  to  her.  Then 
she  was  determined  to  be  recognized  and  she  re- 
mained near  their  box,  awaiting  a  favorable  moment. 
When  she  saw  that  she  was  observed  by  Mme.  de 
Marelle,  she  touched  Duroy's  shoulder  with  the  tip  of 
her  finger,  and  said: 

"Good  evening.     How  are  you?" 

But  Georges  did  not  turn  his  head. 

She  continued:  "Have  you  grown  deaf  since 
Thursday  ?" 

Still  he  did  not  reply.  She  laughed  angrily  and 
cried: 

"Are  you  dumb,  too?  Perhaps  Madame  has  your 
tongue?" 

With  a  furious  glance,  Duroy  then  exclaimed: 
"  How  dare  you  accost  mc  ?  Go  along  or  1  will  have 
you  arrested." 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


59 


With  flaming  eyes,  she  cried:  "Ah,  is  that  so! 
Because  you  are  with  another  is  no  reason  that  you  can- 
not recognize  me.  If  you  had  made  the  least  sign  of 
recognition  when  you  passed  me,  I  would  not  have 
molested  you.  You  did  not  even  say  good  evening 
to  me  when  you  met   me." 

During  that  tirade  Mme.  de  Marelle  in  affright 
opened  the  door  of  the  box  and  fled  through  the 
crowd  seeking  an  exit.  Duroy  rushed  after  her. 
Rachel,  seeing  him  disappear,  cried:  "Stop  her!  she 
has  stolen  my  lover!" 

Two  men  seized  the  fugitive  by  the  shoulder,  but 
Duroy,  who  had  caught  up  with  her,  bade  them  de- 
sist, and  together  he  and  Clotilde    reached  the  street. 

They  entered  a  cab.  The  cabman  asked:  "Where 
shall  I  drive  to?"     Duroy  replied:  "Where  you  will! " 

Clotilde  sobbed  hysterically.  Duroy  did  not  know 
what  to  say  or  do.     At  length  he  stammered: 

"Listen  Clo  —  my  dearest  Go,  let  me  explain. 
It  is  not  my  fault.  1  knew  that  woman  —  long 
ago—" 

She  raised  her  head  and  with  the  fury  of  a  be- 
trayed woman,  she  cried  disconnectedly:  "Ah,  you 
miserable  fellow  —  what  a  rascal  you  are!  Is  it  pos- 
sible? What  disgrace,  oh,  my  God!  You  gave  her 
my  money  —  did  you  not?  I  gave  him  the  money  — 
for  that  woman  —  oh,  the  wretch!" 

For  several  moments  she  seemed  to  be  vainly 
seeking  an  epithet  more  forcible.  Suddenly  leaning 
forward  she  grasped  the  cabman's  sleeve.  "Stop!" 
she  cried,  and  opening  the  door,  she  alighted. 
Georges  was  about  to  follow  her  but  she  commanded: 
"I  forbid  you  to  follow  me,"  in  a  voice  so  loud  that 


6o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  passers-by  crowded  around  her,  and  Duroy  dared 
noi  stir  for  fear  of  a  scandal. 

She  drew  out  her  purse,  and  taking  two  francs 
fifty  from  it,  she  handed  it  to  the  cabman,  saying 
aloud:  "Here  is  the  money  for  your  hour.  Take 
that  rascal  to  Rue  Boursault  at  Batignolles! " 

The  crowd  applauded;  one  man  said:  "Bravo, 
little  one!"  and  the  cab  moved  on,  followed  by  the 
jeers  of  the  bystanders. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

A   Step   Upward 

.  HE  next  morning  Georges  Duroy  arose, 
dressed  himself,  and  determined  to 
have   money;  he   sought    Forestier. 
His  friend  received  him  in  his  study. 

"What    made   you   rise    so   early?" 
he  asked. 

"A  very   serious    matter.     I    have   a 
debt  of  honor." 
"A  gaming  debt?" 
He  hesitated,  then   repeated:  "A    gaming 
debt." 
y      "is  it  large?" 

"Five    hundred  francs."     He   only  needed   two 
hundred  and  eighty. 
Forestier  asked    sceptically:    "To   whom    do    you 
owe  that  amount?" 

Duroy  did  not  reply  at  once.  "To  —  to  —  a  —  M. 
de  Carleville." 

"Ah,  where  does  he  live?" 
"Rue  — Rue  — " 

Forestier  laughed.  "T  know  the  gentleman!  If 
you  want  twenty  francs  you  can  have  them,  but  no 
more," 

(6i) 


62  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Duroy  took  the  gold-piece,  called  upon  more 
friends,  and  by  five  o'clock  had  collected  eighty 
francs.  As  he  required  two  hundred  more,  he  kept 
what  he  had  begged  and  muttered:  "I  shall  not 
worry  about  it.     I  will  pay  it  when  1  can." 

For  two  weeks  he  lived  economically,  but  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  the  good  resolutions  he  had  formed 
vanished,  and  one  evening  he  returned  to  the  Fo- 
lies  Bergeres  in  search  of  Rachel;  but  the  woman 
was  implacable  and  heaped  coarse  insults  upon 
him,  until  he  felt  his  cheeks  tingle  and  he  left  the 
hall. 

Forestier,  out  of  health  and  feeble,  made  Duroy's 
existence  at  the  office  insupportable.  The  latter  did 
not  reply  to  his  rude  remarks,  but  determined  to  be 
avenged.  He  called  upon  Mme.  Forestier.  He  found 
her  reclining  upon  a  couch,  reading.  She  held  out 
her  hand  without  rising  and  said:  "Good  morning, 
Bel-Ami!" 

"Why  do  you  call  me  by  that  name?" 

She  replied  with  a  smile:  "I  saw  Mme.  de  Ma- 
relle  last  week  and  I  know  what  they  have  chris- 
tened you  at  her  house." 

He  took  a  seat  near  his  hostess  and  glanced  at 
her  curiously;  she  was  a  charming  blonde,  fair  and 
plump,  made  for  caresses,  and  he  thought:  "She  is 
certainly  nicer  than  the  other  one."  He  did  not 
doubt  that  he  would  only  have  to  extend  his  hand 
in  order  to  gather  the  fruit.  As  he  gazed  upon  her 
she  chided  him  for  his  neglect  of  her. 

He  replied:  "1  did  npt  come  because  it  was,  for 
the  best — " 

"How?    Why?" 


B  E  L  -  A  M  1  63 

"Why?    Can  you  not  guess?" 

"No!" 

"Because  1  loved  you;  a  little,  only  a  little,  and 
I  did  not  wish  to  love  you  any  more." 

She  did  not  seem  surprised,  nor  flattered;  she 
smiled  indifferently  and  replied  calmly:  "Oh,  you 
can  come  just  the  same;  no  one  loves  me  long." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  useless,  and  I  tell  them  so  at  once. 
If  you  had  confessed  your  fears  to  me  sooner,  1  would 
have  reassured  you.  My  dear  friend,  a  man  in  love 
is  not  only  foolish  but  dangerous.  I  cease  all  inter- 
course with  people  who  love  me  or  pretend  to; 
firstly,  because  they  bore  me,  and  secondly,  because 
1  look  upon  them  with  dread,  as  I  would  upon  a 
mad  dog.  1  know  that  your  love  is  only  a  kind  of 
appetite;  while  with  me  it  would  be  a  communion 
of  souls.  Now,  look  me  in  the  face — "  she  no  longer 
smiled.  "1  will  never  be  your  sweetheart;  it  is 
therefore  useless  for  you  to  persist  in  your  efforts. 
And  now  that  1  have  explained,  shall  we  be 
friends  ?" 

He  knew  that  that  sentence  was  irrevocable,  and 
delighted  to  be  able  to  form  such  an  alliance  as  she 
proposed,  he  extended  both  hands,  saying: 

"1  am   yours,  Madame,  to   do  with  as   you  will." 

He  kissed  her  hands  and  raising  his  head  said: 
"  If  1  had  found  a  woman  like  you,  how  gladly 
would  I  have  married  her." 

She  was  touched  by  those  words,  and  in  a  soft 
voice,  placing  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  she  said:  "I 
am  going  to  begin  my  offices  at  once.  You  are  not 
diplomatic — "   she  hesitated.     "May  1  speak  freely?" 


64  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Yes." 

"Call  upon  Mme.  Walter  who  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  you.  But  be  guarded  as  to  your  compliments,  for 
she  is  virtuous.  You  will  make  a  better  impression 
there  by  being  careful  in  your  remarks.  I  know  that 
your  position  at  the  office  is  unsatisfactory,  but  do 
not  worry;  all  their  employees  are  treated  ahke." 

He  said:  "Thanks;  you  are  an  angel  —  a  guar- 
dian angel." 

As  he  took  his   leave,  he  asked   again:     "Are  we 
friends  —  is  it  settled?" 
"It  is." 

Having  observed  the  effect  of  his  last  compli- 
ment, he  said:  "If  you  ever  become  a  widow,  I 
have  put  in  my  application!"  Then  he  left  the  room 
hastily  in  order  not  to  allow  her  time  to  be  angry. 

Duroy  did  not  like  to  call  on  Mme.  Walter,  for 
he  had  never  been  invited,  and  he  did  not  wish  to 
commit  a  breach  of  etiquette.  The  manager  had  been 
kind  to  him,  appreciated  his  services,  employed  him 
to  do  difficult  work,  why  should  he  not  profit  by 
that  show  of  favor  to  call  at  his  house?  One  day, 
therefore,  he  repaired  to  the  market  and  bought 
twenty-five  pears.  Having  carefully  arranged  them  in 
a  basket  to  make  them  appear  as  if  they  came  from 
a  distance  he  took  them  to  Mme.  Walter's  door  with 
his  card  on  which  was  inscribed: 

"Georges  Duroy  begs  Mme.  Walter  to  accept  the  fruit  which  he 
received  this  morning  from  Normandy." 

The  following  day  he  found  in  his  letter-box  at 
the  office  an  envelope  containing  Mme.  Walter's  card 
on  which  was  written: 


BEL- A  MI  6t» 

"Mme.  Walter  thanks  M.  Georges  Duroy  very  much,  and  is  at 
home  on  Saturdays." 

The  next  Saturday  he  called.  M.  Walter  lived  on 
Boulevard  Malesherbes  in  a  double  house  which  he 
owned.  The  reception-rooms  were  on  the  first  floor, 
in  the  antechamber  were  two  footmen;  one  took 
Duroy's  overcoat,  the  other  his  cane,  put  it  aside, 
opened  a  door  and  announced  the  visitor's  name. 
In  the  large  mirror  in  the  apartment  Duroy  could 
see  the  reflection  of  people  seated  in  another  room. 
He  passed  through  two  drawing-rooms  and  entered 
a  small  boudoir  in  which  four  ladies  were  gathered 
around  a  tea-table.  Notwithstanding  the  assurance 
he  had  gained  during  his  life  in  Paris,  and  especially 
since  he  had  been  thrown  in  contact  with  so  many 
noted  personages,  Duroy  felt  abashed.  He  stam- 
mered: 

'■'Madame,  I  took  the  liberty." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  extended  her  hand  and 
said  to  him:  "You  are  very  kind,  M.  Duroy,  to 
come  to  see  me."  She  pointed  to  a  chair.  The  ladies 
chatted  on.  Visitors  came  and  went.  Mme.  Walter 
noticed  that  Duroy  said  nothing,  that  no  one  ad- 
dressed him,  that  he  seemed  disconcerted,  and  she 
drew  him  into  the  conversation  which  dealt  with  the 
admission  of  a  certain  M.  Linet  to  the  Academy. 
When  Duroy  had  taken  his  leave,  one  of  the  ladies 
said:     "How  odd  he  is!     Who  is  he?" 

Mme.  Walter  replied:  "One  of  our  reporters;  he 
only  occupies  a  minor  position,  but  I  think  he  will 
advance  rapidly." 

In  the  meantime,  while  he  was  being  discussed* 
Duroy  walked  gaily  down  Boulevard  Malesherbes.  ' 

7    G.  de  M.— 5 


66  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  following  week  he  was  appointed  editor  of 
the  "Echoes,"  and  invited  to  dine  at  Mme.  Walter's. 
The  "Echoes"  were,  M.  Walter  said,  the  very  pith 
of  the  paper.  Everything  and  everybody  should  be 
remembered,  all  countries,  all  professions,  Paris  and 
the  provinces,  the  army,  the  arts,  the  clergy,  the 
schools,  the  rulers,  and  the  courtiers.  The  man  at  the 
head  of  that  department  should  be  wide  awake, 
always  on  his  guard,  quick  to  judge  of  what  was 
best  to  be  said  and  best  to  be  omitted,  to  divine 
what  would  please  the  public  and  to  present  it  well. 
Duroy  was  just  the  man  for  the  place. 

He  was  enjoying  the  fact  of  his  promotion,  when 
he  received  an  engraved  card  which  read: 

"  M.  and  Mme.  Walter  request  the  pleasure  of  M.  Georges  Du- 
roy's  company  at  dinner  on  Thursday,  January  20." 

He  was  so  delighted  that  he  kissed  the  invitation 
as  if  it  had  been  a  love-letter. 

Then  he  sought  the  cashier  to  settle  the  import- 
ant question  of  his  salary.  At  first  twelve  hundred 
francs  were  allowed  Duroy,  who  intended  to  save 
a  large  share  of  the  money.  He  was  busy  two  days 
getting  settled  in  his  new  position,  in  a  large  room, 
one  end  of  which  he  occupied,  and  the  other  end 
of  which  was  allotted  to  Boisrenard,  who  worked 
with  him. 

The  day  of  the  dinner-party  he  left  the  office  in 
good  season,  in  order  to  have  time  to  dress,  and  was 
walking  along  Rue  de  Londres  when  he  saw  before 
him  a  form  which  resembled  Mme.  de  Marelle's.  He 
felt  his  cheeks  glow  and  his  heart  throb.     He  crossed 


BEL-AMI 


07 


the  street  in  order  to  see  the  lady's  face;  he  was  mis- 
taken, and  breathed  more  freely.  He  had  often  won- 
dered what  he  should  do  if  he  met  Clotilde  face  to 
face.  Should  he  bow  to  her  or  pretend  not  to  see 
her.?     "I  should  not  see  her,"  thought  he. 

When  Duroy  entered  his  rooms  he  thought:  "I 
must  change  my  apartments;  these  will  not  do  any 
longer."  He  felt  both  nervous  and  gay,  and  said 
aloud  to  himself:  "1  must  write  to  my  father."  Oc- 
casionally he  wrote  home,  and  his  letters  always  de- 
lighted his  old  parents.  As  he  tied  his  cravat  at  the 
mirror  he  repeated:  "1  must  write  home  to-morrow. 
If  my  father  could  see  me  this  evening  in  the  house 
to  which  I  am  going,  he  would  be  surprised.  Sacristi, 
I  shall  soon  give  a  dinner  which  has  never  been 
equaled  1" 

Then  he  recalled  his  old  home,  the  faces  of  his 
father  and  mother.  He  saw  them  seated  at  their 
homely  board,  eating  their  soup.  He  remembered 
every  wrinkle  on  their  old  faces,  every  movement  of 
their  hands  and  heads;  he  even  knew  what  they  said 
to  each  other  every  evening  as  they  supped.  He 
thought:  "I  will  go  to  see  them  some  day."  His 
toilette  completed,  he  extinguished  his  light  and  de- 
scended the  stairs. 

On  reaching  his  destination,  he  boldly  entered  the 
antechamber,  lighted  by  bronze  lamps,  and  gave  his 
cane  and  his  overcoat  to  the  two  lackeys  who  ap- 
proached him.  All  the  salons  were  lighted.  Mme. 
Walter  received  in  the  second,  the  largest.  She 
greeted  Duroy  with  a  charming  smile,  and  he  shook 
hands  with  two  men  who  arrived  after  him,  M. 
Firmin  and  M.  Larochc-Mathieu;  the  latter   had   espe- 


68  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

cial  authority  at  the  office  on  account  of  his  influence 
in  the  chamber  of  deputies. 

Then  the  Forestiers  arrived,  Madeleine  looking 
charming  in  pink.  Charles  had  become  very  much 
emaciated  and  coughed  incessantly. 

Norbert  de  Varenne  and  Jacques  Rival  came  to- 
gether. A  door  opened  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and 
M.  Walter  entered  with  two  tall  young  girls  of  six- 
teen and  seventeen;  one  plain,  the  other  pretty. 
Duroy  knew  that  the  manager  was  a  paterfamilias, 
but  he  was  astonished.  He  had  thought  of  the  mana- 
ger's daughters  as  one  thinks  of  a  distant  country  one 
will  never  see.  Then,  too,  he  had  fancied  them  chil- 
dren, and  he  saw  women.  They  shook  hands  upon 
being  introduced  and  seated  themselves  at  a  table  set 
apart  for  them.  One  of  the  guests  had  not  arrived, 
and  that  embarrassing  silence  which  precedes  dinners 
in  general   reigned  supreme. 

Duroy  happening  to  glance  at  the  walls,  M.  Walter 
said:  "You  are  looking  at  my  pictures?  I  will  show 
them  all  to  you."  And  he  took  a  lamp  that  they 
might  distinguish  all  the  details.  There  were  land- 
scapes by  Guillemet;  "A  Visit  to  the  Hospital,"  by 
Gervex;  "A  Widow,"  by  Bouguereau;  "An  Execu- 
tion," by  Jean  Paul  Laurens,  and  many  others. 

Duroy  exclaimed:  "Charming,  charming,  char  —  " 
but  stopped  short  on  hearing  behind  him  the  voice  of 
Mme.  de  Marelle  who  had  just  entered.  M.  Walter 
continued  to  exhibit  and  explain  his  pictures;  but 
Duroy  saw  nothing  —  heard  without  comprehending. 
Mme.  de  Marelle  was  there,  behind  him.  What 
should  he  do?  If  he  greeted  her,  might  she  not  turn 
her  back  upon  him   or  utlcr  some   insulting  remark? 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


69 


If  he  did  not  approach  her,  what  would  people  think  ? 
He  was  so  ill  at  ease  that  at  one  time  he  thought  he 
should  feign  indisposition  and  return  home. 

The  pictures  had  all  been  exhibited.  M.  W;>lter 
placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  greeted  the  last 
arrival,  while  Duroy  recommenced  alone  an  examina- 
tion of  the  canvas,  as  if  he  could  not  tear  himself 
away.  What  should  he  do  ?  He  heard  their  voices 
and  their  conversation.  Mme.  Forestier  called  him; 
he  hastened  toward  her.  It  was  to  introduce  him  to 
a  friend  who  was  on  the  point  of  giving  a  fete,  and 
who  wanted  a  description  of  it  in  "La  Vie  Fran- 
^aise," 

He  stammered:    "Certainly,  Madame,  certainly." 

Madame  de  Marelle  was  very  near  him;  he  dared 
not  turn  to  go  away.  Suddenly  to  his  amazement, 
she  exclaimed:  "Good  evening,  Bel-Ami;  do  you  not 
remember  me?" 

He  turned  upon  his  heel  hastily;  she  stood  before 
him  smiling,  her  eyes  overflowing  with  roguishness 
and  affection.  She  offered  him  her  hand;  he  took  it 
doubtfully,  fearing  some  perfidy.  She  continued 
calmly:  "What  has  become  of  you.?  One  never 
sees   you!" 

Not  having  regained  his  self-possession,  he  mur- 
mured: "1  have  had  a  great  deal  to  do,  Madame,  a 
great  deal  to  do.  M.  Walter  has  given  me  another 
position  and  the  duties  are  very  arduous." 

"I  know,  but  that  is  no  excuse  for  forgetting  your 
friends." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  a  large  woman,  defcollefc'e,  with  red  arms,  red 
cheeks,  and    attired    in    gay  colors.     As    she  was    re- 


70 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


ceived  with  effusion,  Duroy  asked  Mme.  Forestier: 
"Who  is  that  person?" 

"Viscountess  de  Percemur,  whose  nam  de  plume 
is  'Patte  Blanche.'  " 

He  was  surprised  and  with  difficulty  restrained  a 
burst  of  laughter. 

"Patte  Blanche.^  I  fancied  her  a  young  woman 
like  you.  Is  that  Patte  Blanche }  Ah,  she  is  hand- 
some, very  handsome!" 

A  servant  appeared  at  the  door  and  announced: 
"Madame  is  served." 

Duroy  was  placed  between  the  manager's  plain 
daughter,  Mile.  Rose,  and  Mme.  de  Marelle.  The 
proximity  of  the  latter  embarrassed  him  somewhat, 
although  she  appeared  at  ease  and  conversed  with  her 
usual  spirit.  Gradually,  however,  his  assurance  re- 
turned, and  before  the  meal  was  over,  he  knew  that 
their  relations  would  be  renewed.  Wishing,  too,  to 
be  polite  to  his  employer's  daughter,  he  addressed 
her  from  time  to  time.  She  responded  as  her  mother 
would  have  done,  without  any  hesitation  as  to  wha^ 
she  should  say.  At  M.  Walter's  right  sat  Viscountess 
de  Percemur,  and  Duroy,  looking  at  her  with  a  smile, 
asked  Mme,  de  Marelle  in  a  low  voice:  "Do  you 
know  the  one  who  signs  herself  'Domino  Rose*?" 

"Yes,  perfectly;    Baroness  de  Livar." 

"Is  she  like  the  Countess?" 

"No.  But  she  is  just  as  comical.  She  is  sixty 
years  old,  has  false  curls  and  teeth,  wit  of  the  time 
of  the  Restoration,  and  toilettes  of  the  same  period." 

When  the  guests  returned  to  the  drawing-room, 
Duroy  asked  Mme.  de  Marelle:  "May  I  escort  you 
home  ?" 


BEL-AMI  71 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  M.  Laroche-Mathieu,  who  is  my  neigh- 
bor, leaves  me  at  my  door  every  time  that  1  dine 
here," 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"Lunch  with  me  to-morrow." 

They  parted  without  another  word.  Duroy  did  not 
remain  late;  as  he  descended  the  staircase,  he  met 
Norbert  de  Varenne,  who  was  likewise  going  away. 
The  old  poet  took  his  arm;  fearing  no  rivalry  on  the 
newspaper,  their  work  being  essentially  different,  he 
was  very  friendly  to  the  young  man. 

"Shall  we  walk  along  together?" 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to,"  replied  Duroy. 

The  streets  were  almost  deserted  that  night.  At 
first  the  two  men  did  not  speak.  Then  Duroy,  in 
order  to  make  some  remark,  said:  "That  M.  Laroche- 
Mathieu  looks  very  intelligent." 

The  old  poet  murmured:  "Do  you  think  so?" 

The  younger  man  hesitated  in  surprise:  "Why, 
yes!  Is  he  not  considered  one  of  the  most  capable 
men  in  the  Chamber?" 

"That  may  be.  In  a  kingdom  of  blind  men  the 
blind  are  kings.  All  those  people  are  divided  between 
money  and  politics;  they  are  pedants  to  whom  it  is 
impossible  to  speak  of  anything  that  is  familiar  to 
us.  Ah,  it  is  difficult  to  find  a  man  who  is  liberal  in 
his  ideas!  I  have  known  several,  they  are  dead.  Still, 
what  difference  does  a  little  more  or  a  little  less 
genius  make,  since  all  must  come  to  an  end?"  He 
paused,  and  Duroy  said  with  a  smile: 

"You  are  gloomy  to-night,  sir!" 


72 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


The  poet  replied:  "I  always  am,  my  child;  you 
will  be  too  in  a  few  years.  While  one  is  climbing  the 
ladder,  one  sees  the  top  and  feels  hopeful;  but  when 
one  has  reached  that  summit,  one  sees  the  descent 
and  the  end  which  is  death.  It  is  slow  work  ascend- 
ing, but  one  descends  rapidly.  At  your  age  one  is 
joyous;  one  hopes  for  many  things  which  never  come 
to  pass.     At  mine,  one  expects  nothing  but  death." 

Duroy  laughed:   "Egad,  you  make  me  shudder." 

Norbert  de  Varenne  continued:  "You  do  not 
understand  me  now,  but  later  on  you  will  remem- 
ber what  I  have  told  you.  We  breathe,  sleep,  drink, 
eat,  work,  and  then  die!  The  end  of  life  is  death. 
What  do  you  long  for?  Love?  A  few  kisses  and 
you  will  be  powerless.  Money  ?  What  for  ?  To 
gratify  your  desires.  Glory  ?  What  comes  after  it 
all?     Death!     Death  alone  is  certain." 

He  stopped^  took  Duroy  by  his  coat  collar  and 
said  slowly:  "Ponder  upon  all  that,  young  man; 
think  it  over  for  days,  months,  and  years,  and  you 
will  see  life  from  a  different  standpoint.  1  am  a 
lonely,  old  man.  1  have  neither  father,  mother, 
brother,  sister,  wife,  children,  nor  God.  I  have  only 
poetry.  Marry,  my  friend;  you  do  not  know  what 
it  is  to  live  alone  at  my  age.  It  is  so  lonesome.  I 
seem  to  have  no  one  upon  earth.  When  one  is  old 
it  is  a  comfort  to  have  children." 

When  they  reached  Rue  de  Bourgogne,  the  poet 
halted  before  a  high  house,  rang  the  bell,  pressed 
Duroy's  hand  and  said:  "Forget  what  I  have  said  to 
you,  young  man,  and  live  according  to  your  age. 
Adieu!"  With  those  words  he  disappeared  in  the 
dark  corridor. 


BEL- AMI 


73 


Duroy  felt  somewhat  depressed  on  leaving  Var- 
enne,  but  on  his  way  a  perfumed  damsel  passed 
by  him  and  recalled  to  his  mind  his  reconciliation 
with  Mme.  de  Marelle.  How  delightful  was  the 
realization  of  one's  hopes! 

The  next  morning  he  arrived  at  his  lady-love's 
door  somewhat  early;  she  welcomed  him  as  if  there 
had  been  no  rupture,  and  said  as  she  kissed  him: 

"  You  do  not  know  how  annoyed  1  am,  my  be- 
loved; I  anticipated  a  delightful  honeymoon  and  now 
my  husband  has  come  home  for  six  weeks.  But  I 
could  not  let  so  long  a  time  go  by  without  seeing 
you,  especially  after  our  little  disagreement,  and  this 
is  how  1  have  arranged  matters:  Come  to  dinner 
Monday.  I  will  introduce  you  to  M.  de  Marelle,  I 
have  already  spoken  of  you  to  him." 

Duroy  hesitated  in  perplexity;  he  feared  he  might 
betray  something  by  a  word,  a  glance.     He  stammered : 

"No,  I  would  rather  not  meet  your  husband." 

"Why  not?  How  absurd!  Such  things  happen 
every  day.     I  did  not  think  you  so  foolish." 

"Very  well,  I  will  come  to  dinner  Monday." 

"To  make  it  more  pleasant,  1  will  have  the 
Forestiers,  though  I  do  not  like  to  receive  company 
at  home." 

On  Monday  as  he  ascended  Mme.  de  Marelle's 
staircase,  he  felt  strangely  troubled;  not  that  he  dis- 
liked to  take  her  husband's  hand,  drink  his  wine,  and 
eat  his  bread,  but  he  dreaded  something,  he  knew 
not  what.  He  was  ushered  into  the  salon  and  he 
waited  as  usual.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  a  tail 
man  with  a  white  beard,  grave  and  precise,  advanced 
toward  him  and  said  courteously: 


74 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


"My  wife  has  often  spoken  of  you,  sir;  I  am 
charmed  to  make  your  acquaintance," 

Duroy  tried  to  appear  cordial  and  shook  his  host's 
proffered  hand  with  exaggerated  energy.  M.  de 
Marelle  put  a  log  upon  the  fire  and   asked: 

"Have  you  been  engaged  in  journahsm  a  long 
time?" 

Duroy  replied:  "Only  a  few  months."  His  em- 
barrassment wearing  off,  he  began  to  consider  the 
situation  very  amusing.  He  gazed  at  M.  de  Marelle, 
serious  and  dignified,  and  felt  a  desire  to  laugh 
aloud.  At  that  moment  Mme.  de  Marelle  entered  and 
approached  Duroy,  who  in  the  presence  of  her  hus- 
band dared  not  kiss  her  hand.  Laurine  entered  next, 
and  offered  her  brow  to  Georges.  Her  mother  said 
to  her: 

"You  do   not   call  M.   Duroy   Bel-Ami   to-day," 

The  child  blushed  as  if  it  were  a  gross  indiscre- 
tion to  reveal  her  secret. 

When  the  Forestiers  arrived,  Duroy  was  startled 
at  Charles's  appearance.  He  had  grown  thinner  and 
paler  in  a  week  and  coughed  incessantly;  he  said 
they  would  leave  for  Cannes  on  the  following  Thurs- 
day at  the  doctor's  orders.  They  did  not  stay  late; 
after  they  had  left,  Duroy  said,  with  a  shake  of  his 
head: 

"He  will  not  live  long." 

Mme,  de  Marelle  replied  calmly:  "No,  he  is 
doomed!  He  was  a  lucky  man  to  obtain  such  a 
v/ife." 

Duroy  asked:  "Does   she   help    him  very  much?" 

"She  does  all  the  work;  she  is  well  posted  on 
every  subject,  and  she  always  gains  her  point,  as  she 


BEL-AMI 


75 


wants  3t,  and  when  she  wants  it!  Oh,  she  Is  as 
maneuvering  as  anyone!  She  is  a  treasure  to  a  man 
who  wishes  to  succeed." 

Georges  replied:  "She  will  marry  very  soon  again, 
1  have  no  doubt." 

"Yesl  1  should  not  even  be  surprised  if  she  had 
some  one  in  view  —  a  deputy!  but  1  do  not  know 
anything  about  it." 

M.  de  Marelle  said  impatiently:  "You  infer  so 
many  things  that  I  do  not  like!  We  should  never 
interfere  in  the  affairs  of  others.  Everyone  should 
make  that  a  rule." 

Duroy  took  his  leave  with  a  heavy  heart.  The 
next  day  he  called  on  the  Forestiers,  and  found  them 
in  the  midst  of  packing.  Charles  lay  upon  a  sofa  and 
repeated:  "1  should  have  gone  a  month  ago."  Then 
he  proceeded  to  give  Duroy  innumerable  orders,  al- 
though everything  had  been  arranged  with  M.  Walter. 
When  Georges  left  him,  he  pressed  his  comrade's 
hand  and  said: 

"Well,  old  fellow,  we  shall  soon  meet  again." 

Mme.  Forestier  accompanied  him  to  the  door  and 
he  reminded  her  of  their  compact.  "We  are  friends 
and  allies,  are  we  not  ?  If  you  should  require  my 
services  in  any  way,  do  not  hesitate  to  call  upon  me. 
Send  me  a  dispatch  or  a  letter  and  I  will  obey." 

She  murmured:    "Thank  you,  I  shall  not  forget." 

As  Duroy  descended  the  staircase,  he  met  M.  de 
Vaudrec  ascending.  The  Count  seemed  sad  —  perhaps 
at  the  approaching  departure. 

The  journalist  bowed,  the  Count  returned  his  sal- 
utation courteously  but  somewhat  haughtily. 

On  Thursday  evening  the  Forestiers  left  town. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


A  Duel  with  an  End 


HARLEs's   absence   gave    Duroy  a 
more  important  position  on  "  La 
Vie  Fran^aise."     Only  one  mat- 
ter arose  to  annoy  him,   otherwise 
his  sky  was  cloudless. 
An  insignificant  paper,    "La  Plume," 
attacked    him    constantly,    or    rather 
ttacked  the  editor  of  the  "Echoes"  of 
'  La  Vie  Fran<paise." 
Jacques    Rival   said    to    him    one  day: 
ou  are  very  forbearing." 
'*What    should    I    do  ?      It    is    no    direct 
attack." 
But,  one    afternoon    when    he    entered   the 
office,    Boisrenard    handed     him    a    number    of   "La 
Plume." 

"See,  here  is  another  unpleasant  remark  for  you." 
"Relative  to  what?" 
"To  the  arrest  of  one  Dame  Aubert." 
Georges   took   the    paper  and  read  a  scathing  per- 
sonal denunciation.     Duroy,  it   seems,  had  written  an 
item  claiming  that  Dame  Aubert  who,  as  the  editor  of 
"La  Plume,"  claimed,  had  been  put  under  arrest,  was 
(76) 


B  E  1.  -  A  M  I 


77 


a  myth.  The  latter  retaliated  by  accusing  Duroy  of 
receiving  bribes  and  of  suppressing  matter  that  should 
be  published. 

As  Saint-Potin  entered,  Duroy  asked  him:  "Have 
you  seen  the  paragraph  in  'La  Plume'?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  just  come  from  Dame  Aubert's; 
she  is  no  myth,  but  she  has  not  been  arrested;  that 
•report  has  no  foundation." 

Duroy  went  at  once  to  M.  Walter's  office.  After 
hearing  the  case,  the  manager  bade  him  go  to  the 
woman's  house  himself,  find  out  the  details,  and  reply 
to  the  article. 

Duroy  set  out  upon  his  errand  and  on  his  return 
to  the  office,  wrote  the  following: 

"An  anonymous  writer  in  'La  Plume'  is  trying  to  pick  a  quar- 
rel witii  me  on  the  subject  of  an  old  woman  who,  he  claims,  was  ar- 
rested for  disorderly  conduct,  which  I  deny.  I  have  myself  seen 
Dame  Aubert,  who  is  sixty  years  old  at  least;  she  told  me  the  partic- 
ulars of  her  dispute  with  a  butcher  as  to  the  weight  of  some  cutlets, 
which  dispute  necessitated  an  explanation  before  a  magistrate.  That  is 
the  whole  truth  in  a  nutshell.  As  for  the  other  insinuations  I  scorn 
them.  One  never  should  reply  to  such  things,  moreover,  when  they 
are  written  under  a  mask.  Georges  Duroy." 

M.  Walter  and  Jacques  Rival  considered  that  suffi- 
cient, and  it  was  decided  that  it  should  be  published 
in  that  day's  issue. 

Duroy  returned  home  rather  agitated  and  uneasy. 
What  would  this  opponent  reply?  Who  was  he? 
Why  that  attack  ?  He  passed  a  restless  night.  When 
he  re-read  his  article  in  the  paper  the  next  morning, 
he  thought  it  more  aggressive  in  print  than  it  was  in 
writing.  He  might,  it  seemed  to  him,  have  softened 
certain  terms.     He   was   excited   all   day  and   feverish 


■yg  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

during  the  night.  He  rose  early  to  obtain  an  issue 
of  "La  Plume"  which  should  contain  the  reply  to  his 
note.  He  ran  his  eyes  over  the  columns  and  at  first 
saw  nothing.  He  was  beginning  to  breathe  more 
freely  when  these  words  met  his  eye: 

"  M.  Duroy  of  'La  Vie  Franfaise'  gives  us  the  lie!  In  doing  so, 
he  lies.  He  owns,  however,  that  a  woman  named  Aubert  exists,  and 
that  she  was  taken  before  a  magistrate  by  an  agent.  Two  words 
only  remain  to  be  added  to  the  word  'agent,'  which  are  'of  morals' 
and  all  is  told.  But  the  consciences  of  certain  journalists  are  on  a  par 
with  their  talents.  1  sign  myself, 

"Louis  Langremont. " 

Georges's  heart  throbbed  violently,  and  he  returned 
home  in  order  to  dress  himself.  He  had  been  insulted 
and  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  impossible  to  hesi- 
tate. Why  had  he  been  insulted.^  For  nothing!  On 
account  of  an  old  woman  who  had  quarreled  with 
her  butcher. 

He  dressed  hastily  and  repaired  to  M.  Walters 
house,  although  it  was  scarcely  eight  o'clock.  M. 
Walter  was  reading  "La  Plume." 

"Well,"  he  said  gravely,  on  perceiving  Duroy,  "you 
cannot  let  that  pass."     The  young  man  did  not  reply. 

The  manager  continued:  "Go  at  once  in  search 
of  Rival,  who  will  look  after  your  interests." 

Duroy  stammered  several  vague  words  and  set  out 
for  Rival's  house.  Jacques  was  still  in  bed,  but  he 
rose  when  the  bell  rang,  and  having  read  the  insult- 
ing paragraph,  said:  "Whom  would  you  like  to 
have  besides  me?" 

"  I  do  not   know." 

"  Boisrenard  ?" 


BEL-AMI 


79 


"Yes." 

"Are  you  a  good  swordsman?" 

"No." 

"A  good  shot?" 

"I  have  used  a  pistol  a  good  deal." 

"Goodl  Come  and  exercise  while  I  attend  to 
everything.     Wait  a  moment." 

He  entered  his  dressing-room  and  soon  reappeared, 
washed,  shaven,  and  presentable. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  he.  He  Hved  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  he  led  Duroy  into  a  cellar  converted 
into  a  room  for  the  practice  of  fencing  and  shooting. 
He  produced  a  pair  of  pistols  and  began  to  give  his 
orders  as  briefly  as  if  they  were  on  the  dueling 
ground.  He  was  well  satisfied  with  Duroy's  use  of 
the  weapons,  and  told  him  to  remain  there  and  prac- 
tice until  noon,  when  he  would  return  to  take  him 
to  lunch  and  tell  him  the  result  of  his  mission.  Left 
to  his  own  devices,  Duroy  aimed  at  the  target  several 
times  and  then  sat  down  to  reflect. 

Such  affairs  were  abominable  anyway!  What 
would  a  respectable  man  gain  by  risking  his  life? 
And  he  recalled  Norbert  de  Varcnne's  remarks,  made 
to  him  a  short  while  before.  "He  was  right!"  he 
declared  aloud.  It  was  gloomy  in  that  cellar,  as 
gloomy  as  in  a  tomb.  What  o'clock  was  it  ?  The 
time  dragged  slowly  on.  Suddenly  he  heard  foot- 
steps, voices,  and  Jacques  Rival  reappeared  accom- 
panied by  Boisrenard.  The  former  cried  on  perceiving 
Duroy:     "All  is  settled!" 

Duroy  thought  the  matter  had  terminated  with  a 
letter  of  apology;  his  heart  gave  a  bound  and  he 
stammered:     "Ah  —  thank  youl" 


8o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Rival  continued:  "M.  Langremont  has  accepted 
every  condition.  Twenty-five  paces,  fire  when  the 
pistol  is  leveled  and  the  order  given."  Then  he 
added:  "Now  let  us  lunch;  it  is  past  twelve 
o'clock." 

They  repaired  to  a  neighboring  restaurant.  Duroy 
was  silent.  He  ate  that  they  might  not  think  he  was 
frightened,  and  went  in  the  afternoon  with  Boisre- 
nard  to  the  office,  where  he  worked  in  an  absent, 
mechanical  manner.  Before  leaving,  Jacques  Rival 
shook  hands  with  him  and  warned  him  that  he  and 
Boisrenard  would  call  for  him  in  a  carriage  the  next 
morning  at  seven  o'clock  to  repair  to  the  wood  at 
Vesinet,  where  the  meeting  was  to  take  place. 

All  had  been  settled  without  his  saying  a  word, 
giving  his  opinion,  accepting  or  refusing,  with  such 
rapidity  that  his  brain  whirled  and  he  scarcely  knew 
what  was  taking  place.  He  returned  home  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  after  having  dined  with 
Boisrenard,  who  had  not  left  him  all  day.  When  he 
was  alone,  he  paced  the  floor;  he  was  too  confused 
to  think.  One  thought  alone  filled  his  mind  and  that 
was:  a  duel  to-morrow!  He  sat  down  and  began  to 
meditate.  He  had  thrown  upon  his  table  his  adver- 
sary's card  brought  him  by  Rival.  He  read  it  for  the 
twentieth  time  that  day: 

"Louis    Langremont, 
"176  Rue  Montniartre. " 

Nothing  more!  Who  was  the  man.?  How  old 
was  he  ?  How  tall  ?  How  did  he  look  ?  How  odious 
that  a  total  stranger  should  without  rhyme  or  reason, 
out   of  pure  caprice,  annoy  him    thus    on    account    of 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I  8 1 

an  old  woman's  quarrel  with  her  butcher!  He  said 
aloud:     "The  brute!"  and  ghired  angrily  at  the  card. 

He  began  to  feel  nervous;  the  sound  of  his  voice 
made  him  start;  he  drank  a  glass  of  water  and  laid 
down.  He  turned  from  his  right  side  to  his  left  un- 
easily. He  was  thirsty;  he  rose,  he  felt  restless* 
"Am  1  afraid?"   he  asked  himself. 

Why  did  his  heart  palpitate  so  wildly  at  the 
slightest  sound?  He  began  to  reason  philosophically 
on  the  possibility  of  being  afraid.  No,  certainly  he 
was  not,  since  he  was  ready  to  fight.  Still  he  felt 
so  deeply  moved  that  he  wondered  if  one  could  be 
afraid  in  spite  of  oneself.  What  would  happen  if 
that  state  of  things  should  exist?  If  he  should  trem- 
ble or  lose  his  presence  of  mind  ?  He  lighted  his 
candle  and  looked  in  the  glass;  he  scarcely  recog- 
nized his  own  face,  it  was  so  changed. 

Suddenly  he  thought:  "To-morrow  at  this  time 
1  may  be  dead."  He  turned  to  his  couch  and  saw 
himself  stretched  lifeless  upon  it.  He  hastened  to  the 
window  and  opened  it;  but  the  night  air  was  so 
chilly  that  he  closed  it,  lighted  a  fire,  and  began  to 
pace  the  floor  once  more,  saying  mechanically:  "1 
must  be  more  composed.  1  will  write  to  my  parents, 
in  case  of  accident."  He  took  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
after  several  attempts  began: 

"  My  Dear  Father  akd  Mother: 

"At  daybreak  I  am  going  to  fight  a  duel,  and  as  something 
might  happen — " 

He  could  write  no  more,  he  rose  with  a  shudder. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  notwithstanding  his  efforts,  he 
would    not    have    the   strength    necessary   to   face    the 

7    G.  de  M.— 6 


82  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

meeting.  He  wondered  if  his  adversary  had  ever 
fought  before;  if  he  were  known?  He  had  never 
heard  his  name.  However,  if  he  had  not  been  a  re- 
markable shot,  he  would  not  have  accepted  that  dan- 
gerous weapon  without  hesitation.  He  ground  his 
teeth  to  prevent  his  crying  aloud.  Suddenly  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  a  bottle  of  brandy;  he  fetched 
it  from  the  cupboard  and  soon  emptied  it.  Now  he 
feh  his  blood  course  more  warmly  through  his  veins. 
"I  have  found  a  means,"  said  he. 

Day  broke.  He  began  to  dress;  when  his  heart 
failed  him,  he  took  more  brandy.  At  length  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  His  friends  had  come; 
they  were  wrapped  in  furs.  After  shaking  hands, 
Rival  said:  "It  is  as  cold  as  Siberia.  Is  all  well?" 
"Yes." 

"Are  you  calm  ?" 
"Very  calm." 

"Have  you  eaten  and  drunk  something?" 
"1  do  not  need  anything." 

They  descended  the  stairs.  A  gentleman  was 
seated  in  the  carriage.  Rival  said:  "Dr.  Le  Bru- 
ment."  Duroy  shook  hands  with  him  and  stammered: 
"Thank  you,"  as  he  entered  the  carriage.  Jacques 
Rival  and  Boisrenard  followed  him,  and  the  coachman 
drove  off.     He  knew  where  to  go. 

The  conversation  flagged,  although  the  doctor  re- 
lated a  number  of  anecdotes.  Rival  alone  replied  to 
him.  Duroy  tried  to  appear  self-possessed,  but  he 
was  haunted  continually  by  the  fear  of  showing  his 
feelings  or  of  losing  his  self-possession.  Rival  ad- 
dressed him,  saying:  "I  took  the  pistols  to  Gastine 
Renette.     He  loaded  them.     The  box  is  sealed." 


BEL- AMI 


83 


Duroy  replied  mechanically:  "Thank  you." 

Then  Rival  proceeded  to  give  him  minute  directions, 
that  he  might  make  no  mistakes.  Duroy  repeated 
those  directions  as  children  learn  their  lessons  in 
order  to  impress  them  upon  his  memory.  As  he 
muttered  the  phrases  over  and  over,  he  almost  prayed 
that  some  accident  might  happen  to  the  carriage;  if 
he  could  only  break  his  leg! 

At  the  end  of  a  glade  he  saw  a  carriage  standing 
and  four  gentlemen  stamping  their  feet  in  order  to 
keep  them  warm,  and  he  was  obliged  to  gasp  in 
order  to  get  breath.  Rival  and  Boisrenard  alighted 
first,  then  the  doctor  and  the  combatant. 

Rival  took  the  box  of  pistols,  and  with  Boisrenard 
approached  the  two  strangers,  who  were  advancing 
toward  them.  Duroy  saw  them  greet  one  another 
ceremoniously,  then  walk  through  the  glade  together 
as  they  counted  the  paces. 

Dr.  Le  Brument  asked  Duroy:  "Do  you  feel  wdi  ? 
Do  you  not  want  anything?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you."  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  asleep,  that  he  was  dreaming.  Was  he  afraid.^ 
He  did  not  know.  Jacques  Rival  returned  and  said 
in  a  low  voice:  "All  is  ready.  Fortune  has  favored 
us  in  the  drawing  of  the  pistols."  That  was  a  mat- 
ter of  indifference  to  Duroy.  They  helped  him  off 
with  his  overcoat,  led  him  to  the  ground  set  apart 
for  the  duel,  and  gave  him  his  pistol.  Before  him 
stood  a  man,  short,  stout,  and  bald,  who  wore 
glasses.  That  was  his  adversary.  A  voice  broke  the 
silence  —  a  voice  which  came  from  afar:  "Are  you 
ready,  sirs?" 

Georges  cried:     "Yes." 


84 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


The  same  voice  commanded:     "Fire!'" 

Duroy  heard  nothing  more,  saw  nothing  more; 
he  only  knew  that  he  raised  his  arm  and  pressed 
with  all  his  strength  upon  the  trigger.  Soon  he 
saw  a  little  smoke  before  him;  his  opponent  was 
still  standing  in  the  same  position,  and  there  was 
a  small  white  cloud  above  his  head.  They  had  both 
fired.  All  was  over!  His  second  and  the  doctor 
felt  him,  unbuttoned  his  garments,  and  asked  anx- 
iously: "Are  you  wounded?"  He  replied:  "No,  I 
think  not." 

Langremont  was  not  wounded  either,  and  Jacques 
Rival  muttered  discontentedly:  "That  is  always  the 
way  with  those  cursed  pistols,  one  either  misses  or 
kills  one's  opponent." 

Duroy  was  paralyzed  with  surprise  and  joy.  All 
was  over!  He  felt  that  he  could  fight  the  entire  uni- 
verse. All  was  over!  What  bliss!  He  felt  brave 
enough  to  provoke  anyone.  The  seconds  consulted 
several  moments,  then  the  duelists  and  their  friends 
entered  the  carriages  and  drove  off.  When  the  offi- 
cial report  was  drawn  up,  it  was  handed  to  Duroy 
who  was  to  insert  it  in  the  "Echoes."  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  two  balls  had  been  fired. 

He  said  to  Rival:  "We  only  fired  once  !" 

The  latter  smiled:  "Yes  —  once  —  once  each  — 
that  makes  twice! " 

And  Duroy,  satisfied  with  that  explanation,  asked 
no  more  questions.     M.  Walter  embraced  him. 

"Bravo!  you  have  defended  the  colors  of  'La  Vie 
Fran^aise'  !     Bravo!  " 

The  following  day  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  fore- 
noon,  Duroy  received  a  telegram: 


BEL- AMI 


85 


"My  God!  I  have  been  frightened.  Come  at  once  to  Rue  de 
Constantinople  that  I  may  embrace  you,  my  love.  How  brave  you 
are.     I  adore  you.  Clo." 

He  repaired  to  the  place  appointed,  and  Mme.  de 
Marelle  rushed  into  his  arms,  covering  him  with 
kisses. 

"Oh,  my  darhng,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  felt 
when  I  read  the  morning  papers!  Tell  me,  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

Duroy  was  obliged  to  give  her  a  detailed  account. 

"You  must  have  had  a  terrible  night  before  the 
duel!" 

"Why,  no;  1  slept  very  well." 

"I  should  not  have  closed  my  eyes.  Tell  me 
what  took  place  on  the   ground." 

Forthwith  he  proceeded  to  give  her  a  graphic 
description  of  the  duel.  When  he  had  concluded,  she 
said  to  him:  "1  cannot  live  without  you!  I  must  see 
you,  and  with  my  husband  in  Paris  it  is  not  very 
convenient.  1  often  have  an  hour  early  in  the  morn- 
ing when  I  could  come  and  embrace  you,  but  1  can- 
not enter  that  horrible  house  of  yours!  What  can 
we  do  ?" 

He  asked  abruptly:  "How  much  do  you  pay 
here }'" 

"One  hundred  francs  a  month." 

"  Very  well,  1  will  take  the  apartments  on  my 
own  account,  and  I  will  move  at  once.  Mine  are  not 
suitable  anyway  for  me  now." 

She  thought  a  moment  and  then  replied:  "No  1 
do  not  want  you  to." 

He  asked  in  surprise:  "Why  not?" 

"  Because! " 


86  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"  That  is  no  reason.  These  rooms  suit  me  very 
well.  I  am  here;  I  shall  remain."  He  laughed. 
"Moreover,  they  were  hired  in  my  name!" 

But  she  persisted:  "No,  no,  I  do  not  wish 
you  to." 

"Why  not,  then  ?" 

She  whispered  softly,  tenderly:  "Because  you 
would  bring  others  here,  and  1  do  not  wish  you  to." 

Indignantly  he  cried:   "Never,   I  promise  you!" 

"You  would  do  so  in  spite  of  your  promise." 

"  I  swear  I  will  not." 

"Truly?" 

"Truly  —  upon  my  word  of  honor.  This  is  our 
nest  —  ours   alone !  " 

She  embraced  him  in  a  transport  of  delight. 
"Then  1  agree,  my  dearest.  But  if  you  deceive  me 
once — just  once,  that  will  end  all  between  us  for- 
ever." 

He  protested,  and  it  was  agreed  that  he  should 
settle  in  the  rooms  that  same  day.     She  said  to  him: 

"You  must  dine  with  us  Sunday.  My  husband 
thinks   you    charming." 

He  was  flattered.     "Indeed.?" 

"Yes,  you  have  made  a  conquest.  Did  you  not 
tell  me  that  your  home  was  in  the  country?" 

"Yes;    why?" 

"Then   you   know  something   about  agriculture?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well;  talk  to  him  of  gardening  and  crops; 
he  enjoys  those  subjects." 

"All  right.     I  shall  not  forget." 

She  left  him,  after  lavishing  upon  him  innumerable 
caresses. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 
Death   and  a   Proposal 


UROY    moved    his    effects    to    the 
apartments  in  Rue  de  Constanti- 
nople.    Two    or    three    times    a 
week,    Mme.    de    Mareile    paid    him 
visits.    Duroy,  to  counterbalance  them, 
dined  at  her  house  every  Thursday,  and 
delighted    her   husband  by  talking  agri- 
culture to  him. 

It  was  almost  the  end  of  February.    Du- 
roy was   free  from    care.     One   night,  when 
he   returned    home,  he    found    a   letter   under 
W"     his  door.     He  examined   the    postmark;  it  was 
from  Cannes.     Having  opened  it,  he  read: 

"Cannes,  Villa  Jolie. 
"Dear  Sir  and  Friend:  You  told  me,  did  you  not,  that  I  could 
count  upon  you  at  any  time  ?  Very  well.  1  have  a  favor  to  ask  ol 
you;  it  is  to  come  and  help  me  —  not  to  leave  me  alone  during 
Charles's  last  moments.  He  may  not  live  through  the  vk'cek,  although 
he  is  not  confined  to  his  bed,  but  the  doctor  has  warned  me.  ! 
have  not  the  strength  nor  the  courage  to  see  that  agony  day  and 
night,  and  1  think  with  terror  of  the  approaching  end.  I  can  only 
ask  such  a  thing  of  you,  for  my  husband  has  no  relatives.  You  were 
his  comrade;  he  helped  you  to  your  position;  come,  I  beg  of  you;  1 
have  no  one  else  to  ask.  Your   friend, 

' '  Madeleine   Forestibr.  " 
(87) 


88  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Georges  murmured:  "Certainly  I  will  go.  Poor 
Charles!" 

The  manager,  to  whom  he  communicated  the  con- 
tents of  that  letter,  grumblingly  gave  his  consent. 
He  repeated:  "But  return  speedily,  you  are  indispen- 
sable to  us." 

Georges  Duroy  left  for  Cannes  the  next  day  by 
the  seven  o'clock  express,  after  having  warned  Mme. 
de  Marelle  by  telegram.  He  arrived  the  following  day 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  A  commissionnaire 
conducted  him  to  Villa  Jolie.  The  house  was  small 
and  low,  and  of  the  Italian  style  of  architecture. 

A  servant  opened  the  door  and  cried:  "Oh,  sir, 
Madame  is  awaiting  you  patiently." 

Duroy  asked:    "How  is  your  master.^" 

"Not  very   well,  sir.     He    will  not  be  here  long." 

The  floor  of  the  drawing-room  which  the  young 
man  entered  was  covered  with  a  Persian  rug;  the 
large  windows  looked  upon    the  village   and   the  sea. 

Duroy  murmured:  "How  cozy  it  is  here!  Where 
the  deuce  do  they  get  the  money  from?" 

The  rustling  of  a  gown  caused  him  to  turn.  Mme. 
Forestier  extended  both  her  hands,  saying: 

"How  kind  of  you  to  come." 

She  was  a  trifle  paler  and  thinner,  but  still  as 
bright  as  ever,  and  perhaps  prettier  for  being  more 
delicate.  She  whispered:  "It  is  terrible  —  he  knows 
he  cannot  be  saved  and  he  tyrannizes  over  me.  I 
have  told  him  of  your  arrival.  But  where  is  your 
trunk  ?" 

Duroy  replied:  "I  left  it  at  the  station,  not  know- 
ing which  hotel  you  would  advise  me  to  stop  at,  in 
order  to  be  near  you." 


BEL-AMI 


89 


She  hesitated,  then  said:  "You  must  stop  here, 
at  the  villa.  Your  chamber  is  ready.  He  might  die 
any  moment,  and  if  it  should  come  in  the  night,  I 
would  be  alone.     I  will  send  for  your  luggage." 

He  bowed.     "As  you  will." 

"Now,  let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  she;  he  followed 
her.  She  opened  a  door  on  the  first  floor,  and  Duroy 
saw  a  form  near  a  window,  seated  in  an  easy-chair, 
and  wrapped  in  coverlets.  He  divined  that  it  was 
his  friend,  though  he  scarcely  recognized  him.  For- 
estier  raised  his  hand  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
saying: 

"You  are  here;  you  have  come  to  see  me  die. 
1  am  much  obliged." 

Duroy  forced  a  smile.  "To  see  you  die?  That 
would  not  be  a  very  pleasant  sight,  and  I  would  not 
choose  that  occasion  on  which  to  visit  Cannes.  I 
came  here  to  rest." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Forestier,  and  he  bowed  his 
head  as  if  deep  in  hopeless  meditation.  Seeing  that 
he  did  not  speak,  his  wife  approached  the  window 
and  pointing  to  the  horizon,  said,  "Look  at  that?  Is 
it  not  beautiful  ?  " 

In  spite  of  himself  Duroy  felt  the  grandeur  of  the 
closing  day  and  exclaimed:  "Yes,  indeed,  it  is  mag- 
nificent." 

Forestier  raised  his  head  and  said  to  his  wife: 
"Give  me  more  air." 

She  replied:  "You  must  be  careful;  it  is  late,  the 
sun  is  setting;  you  will  catch  more  cold  and  that 
would  be  a  serious  thing  in  your  condition." 

He  made  a  feeble  gesture  of  anger  with  his  right 
hand,   and  said:    "1  tell  you  I  am  suffocating!     What 


^  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

diflference  does  it  make  if  I  die  a  day  sooner  or  later, 
since  I  must  die?" 

She  opened  the  window  wide.  The  air  was  soft 
and  balmy.  Forestier  inhaled  it  in  feverish  gasps.  He 
grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"Shut  the  window.     I   would  rather  die  in  a  cellar." 

His  wife  slowly  closed  the  window,  then  leaned 
her  brow  against  the  pane  and  looked  out.  Duroy, 
ill  at  ease,  wished  to  converse  with  the  invalid  to  re- 
assure him,  but  he  could  think  of  no  words  of  com- 
fort. He  stammered:  "Have  you  not  been  better 
since  you  are  here.'*" 

His  friend  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently: 
"You  will  see  very  soon."  And  he  bowed  his  head 
again. 

Duroy  continued:  "At  home  it  is  still  wintry.  It 
snows,  hails,  rains,  and  is  so  dark  that  they  have  to 
light  the  lamps  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

Forestier  asked:  "Is  there  anything  new  at  the 
office?" 

"Nothing.  They  have  taken  little  Lacrin  of  the 
'Voltaire,'  to  fill  your  place,  but  he  is  incapable.  It 
is  time  you  came  back." 

The  invalid  muttered:  "I?  I  will  soon  be  writ- 
ing under  six  feet  of  sod."     A  long  silence  ensued. 

Mme.  Forestier  did  not  stir;  she  stood  with  her 
back  to  the  room,  her  face  toward  the  window.  At 
length  Forestier  broke  the  silence  in  a  gasping  voice, 
heartrending  to  listen  to:  "How  many  more  sunsets 
shall  I  see  —  eight  —  ten  —  fifteen  —  twenty — or  per- 
haps thirty  —  no  more.  You  have  more  time,  you 
two  —  as  for  me  —  all  is  at  an  end.  And  everything 
will  go  on  when  1    am    gone  as  if  1  were  here."     He 


BEL- AMI  Q, 

paused  a  few  moments,  then  continued:  "Everything 
that  I  see  reminds  me  that  I  shall  not  see  them  long. 
It  is  horrible.  1  shall  no  longer  see  the  smallest  ob- 
jects—  the  glasses  —  the  dishes  —  the  beds  on  which 
we  rest  —  the  carriages.  It  is  fme  to  drive  in  the 
evening.     How  1  loved  all  that." 

Again  Norbert  de  Varenne's  words  occurred  to  Du- 
roy.  The  room  grew  dark.  Forestier  asked  irritably: 
"Are  we  to  have  no  lamp  to-night?  That  is  what 
is  called  caring  for  an  invalid!" 

The  form  outlined  against  the  window  disappeared 
and  an  electric  bell  was  heard  to  ring.  A  servant 
soon  entered  and  placed  a  lamp  upon  the  mantel- 
piece. Mme.  Forestier  asked  her  husband:  "Do  you 
wish  to  retire,  or  will  you  go  downstairs  to  dinner?" 

"1  will  go  down  to  dinner." 

The  meal  seemed  to  Duroy  interminable,  for  there 
was  no  conversation,  only  the  ticking  of  a  clock 
broke  the  silence.  When  they  had  finished,  Duroy, 
pleading  fatigue,  retired  to  his  room  and  tried  in  vain 
to  invent  some  pretext  for  returning  home  as  quickly 
as  possible.  He  consoled  himself  by  saying:  "Per- 
haps it  will  not  be  for  long." 

The  next  morning  Georges  rose  early  and  strolled 
down  to  the  beach.  When  he  returned  the  servant 
said  to  him:  "Monsieur  has  asked  for  you  two  or 
three  times.     Will  you  go  upstairs?" 

He  ascended  the  stairs.  Forestier  appeared  to  be 
asleep  in  a  chair;  his  wife,  reclining  upon  a  couch, 
was  reading.  The  invalid  raised  his  head.  Duroy 
asked : 

"Well,  how  are  you?  You  look  better  this  morn- 
ing." 


92 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Forestier  murmured:  "Yes,  1  am  better  and 
stronger.  Lunch  as  hastily  as  you  can  with  Made- 
leine, because  we  are  going  to  take  a  drive." 

When  Mme.  Forestier  was  alone  with  Duroy,  she 
said  to  him:  "You  see,  to-day  he  thinks  he  is 
better!  He  is  making  plans  for  to-morrow.  We  are 
now  going  to  Gulf  Juan  to  buy  pottery  for  our  rooms 
in  Paris.  He  is  determined  to  go,  but  he  cannot 
stand  the  jolting  on  the  road." 

The  carriage  arrived,  Forestier  descended  the  stairs, 
step  by  step,  supported  by  his  servant.  When  he 
saw  the  closed  landau,  he  wanted  it  uncovered.  His 
wife  opposed  him:  "It  is  sheer  madness  1  You  will 
take  cold." 

He  persisted:  "No,  1  am  going  to  be  better,  I 
know  it." 

They  first  drove  along  a  shady  road  and  then 
took  the  road  by  the  sea.  Forestier  explained  the 
different  points  of  interest.  Finally  they  arrived  at  a 
pavilion  over  which  were  these  words:  "Gulf 
Juan  Art  Pottery,"  and  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the 
door.  Forestier  wanted  to  buy  a  vase  to  put  on 
his  bookcase.  As  he  could  not  leave  the  carriage, 
they  brought  the  pieces  to  him  one  by  one.  It  took 
him  a  long  time  to  choose,  consulting  his  wife  and 
Duroy:  "You  know  it  is  for  my  study.  From  my 
easy-chair  I  can  see  it  constantly.  I  prefer  the  an- 
cient form  —  the  Greek," 

At  length  he  made  his  choice.  "I  shall  return  to 
Paris  in  a  few  days,"  said  he. 

On  their  way  home  along  the  gulf  a  cool  breeze 
suddenly  sprang  up,  and  the  invalid  began  to  cough. 
At   first   it  was    nothing,   only  a   slight   attack,  but    it 


BEL- AM  I  g^ 

grew  worse  and  turned  to  a  sort  of  hiccough  —  a 
rattle.  Forestier  choked,  and  every  time  he  tried  to 
breathe  he  coughed  violently.  Nothing  quieted  him. 
He  had  to  be  carried  from  the  landau  to  his  room. 
The  heat  of  the  bed  did  not  stop  the  attack,  which 
lasted  until  midnight.  The  first  words  the  sick  man 
uttered  were  to  ask  for  a  barber,  for  he  insisted  on 
being  shaved  every  morning.  He  rose  to  be  shaved, 
but  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed  at  once,  and  began  to 
breathe  so  painfully  that  Mme.  Forestier  in  affright 
woke  Duroy  and  asked  him  to  fetch  the  doctor.  He 
returned  almost  immediately  with  Dr.  Gavant  who 
prescribed  for  the  sick  man.  When  the  journalist  asked 
him  his  opinion,  he  said:  "It  is  the  final  stage.  He 
will  be  dead  to-morrow  morning.  Prepare  that 
poor,  young  wife  and  send  for  a  priest.  I  can  do 
nothing  more.  However,  I  am  entirely  at  your  dis- 
posal." 

Duroy  went  to  Mme.  Forestier.  "He  is  going  to 
die.  The  doctor  advises  me  to  send  for  a  priest. 
What  will  you  do?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  slowly: 

"I  will  go  and  tell  him  that  the  cur6  wishes  to 
see  him.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  procure  one 
who  will  require  nothing  but  the  confession,  and  who 
will  not  make  much  fuss.?" 

The  young  man  brought  with  him  a  kind,  old 
priest  who  accommodated  himself  to  circumstances. 
When  he  had  entered  the  death  chamber,  Mme.  For- 
estier went  out  and  seated  herself  with  Duroy  in  an 
adjoining  room. 

"That  has  upset  him,"  said  she,  "When  I  men- 
tioned the  priest   to    him,  his   face   assumed   a  scared 


94  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

expression.  He  knew  that  the  end  was  near.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  face." 

At  that  moment  they  heard  the  priest  saying  to 
him:  "Why  no,  you  are  not  so  low  as  that.  You 
are  ill,  but  not  in  danger.  The  proof  of  that  is  that 
I  came  as  a  friend,  a  neighbor."  They  could  not 
hear  his  reply.  The  priest  continued:  "No,  I  shall 
not  administer  the  sacrament.  We  will  speak  of  that 
when  you  are  better.  If  you  will  only  confess,  1  ask 
no  more.  1  am  a  pastor;  I  take  advantage  of  every 
occasion  to  gather  in  my  sheep." 

A  long  silence  followed.  Then  suddenly  the  priest 
said,  in  the  tone  of  one  officiating  at  the  altar: 

"The  mercy  of  God  is  infinite;  repeat  the  '  Con- 
fiteor,'  my  son.  Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  it;  I  will 
help  you.  Repeat  with  me:  '  Confiieor  Deo  otnnipo- 
tenti;  Beatcv  Maria'  semper  virgini.' "  He  paused 
from  time  to  time  to  permit  the  dying  man  to  catch 
up  to   him. 

Then  he  said:  "Now,  confess."  The  sick  man 
murmured  something.  The  priest  repeated:  "You 
have  committed  sins:  of  what  kind,  my  son?" 

The  young  woman  rose  and  said  simply:  "Let  us 
go  into  the  garden.    We  must  not  listen  to  his  secrets." 

They  seated  themselves  upon  a  bench  before  the 
door,  beneath  a  blossoming  rosebush.  After  several 
moments  of  silence  Duroy  asked:  "Will  it  be  some 
time  before  you  return  to  Paris?" 

"No,"  she  replied;  "when  all  is  over,  I  will  go 
back." 

"In  about  ten   days  ?" 

"Yes,  at  most." 

He  continued:  "Charles  has  no  relatives  then?" 


BEL-AMI 


95 


"None,  save  cousins.  His  father  and  mother  died 
when  he  was  very  young." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  the  servant  came 
to  tell  them  that  the  priest  had  finished,  and  together 
they  ascended  the  stairs.  Forestier  seemed  to  have 
grown  thinner  since  the  preceding  day.  The  priest 
was  holding  his  hand. 

"  y^u  revoir,  my  son,  I  will  come  again  to-morrow 
morning";  and  he  left.  When  he  was  gone,  the 
dying  man,  who  was  panting,  tried  to  raise  his  two 
hands  toward  his  wife  and  gasped: 

"Save  me  —  save  me,  my  darling.  I  do  not  want 
to  die  —  oh,  save  me  —  go  for  the  doctor.  I  will 
take  anything.  I  do  not  want  to  die."  He  wept; 
the  tears  coursed  down  his  pallid  cheeks.  Then  his 
hands  commenced  to  wander  hither  and  thither  con- 
tinually, slowly,  and  regularly,  as  if  gathering  some- 
thing on  the  coverlet.  His  wife,  who  was  also 
weeping,  sobbed: 

"No,  it  is  nothing.  It  is  only  an  attack;  you 
will  be  better  to-morrow;  you  tired  yourself  with  that 
drive." 

Forestier  drew  his  breath  quickly  and  so  faintly 
that  one  could  scarcely  hear  him.     He  repeated: 

"  I  do  not  want  to  die!  Oh,  my  God — my  God 
—  what  has  happened  to  me?  1  cannot  see.  Oh,  my 
God!"  His  staring  eyes  saw  something  invisible 
to  the  others;  his  hands  plucked  continually  at  the 
counterpane.  Suddenly  he  shuddered  and  gasped: 
"The  cemetery  —  me  —  my  God!"  He  did  not  speak 
again.  He  lay  there  motionless  and  ghastly.  The 
hours  dragged  on;  the  clock  of  a  neighboring  con- 
vent chimed  noon. 


96 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Duroy  left  the  room  to  obtain  some  food.  He  re- 
turned an  hour  later;  Mme.  Forestier  would  eat  noth- 
ing. The  invalid  had  not  stirred.  The  young  woman 
was  seated  in  an  easy-chair  at  the  foot  of  the  t)ed. 
Duroy  likewise  seated  himself,  and  they  watched  in 
silence.  A  nurse,  sent  by  the  doctor-  had  arrived  and 
was  dozing  by  the  window. 

Duroy  himself  was  almost  asleep  when  he  felt  a 
presentiment  that  something  was  about  to  happen. 
He  opened  his  eyes  just  in  time  to  see  Forestier  close 
his.  He  coughed  slightly,  and  two  streams  of  blood 
issued  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  flowed  upon 
his  night  robe;  his  hands  ceased  their  perpetual  mo- 
tion; he  had  breathed  his  last.  His  wife,  perceiving 
it,  uttered  a  cry  and  fell  upon  her  knees  by  the  bed- 
side. Georges,  in  surprise  and  affright,  mechanically 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

The  nurse,  awakening,  approached  the  bed  and 
said:  "It  has  come."  Duroy,  recovering  his  self-pos- 
session, murmured  with  a  sigh  of  relief:  "It  was  not 
as  hard  as  I  feared  it  would  be." 

That  night  Mme.  Forestier  and  Duroy  watched  in 
the  chamber  of  death.  They  were  alone  beside  him 
who  was  no  more.  They  did  not  speak,  Georges's 
eyes  seemed  attracted  to  that  emaciated  face  which 
the  flickering  light  made  more  hollow.  That  was  his 
friend,  Charles  Forestier,  who  the  day  before  had 
spoken  to  him.  For  several  years  he  had  lived,  eaten, 
laughed,  loved,  and  hoped  as  did  everyone  —  and  now 
all  was  ended  for  him  forever. 

Life  lasted  a  few  months  or  years,  and  then  fled! 
One  was  born,  grew,  was  happy,  and  died.  Adieu! 
man   or  woiian,  you  will  never  return  to  earth!     He 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


97 


thought  of  the  insects  which  Hve  several  hours,  of 
the  beasts  which  live  several  days,  of  the  men  who 
live  several  years,  of  the  worlds  which  last  several 
centuries.  What  was  the  difference  between  one  and 
the  other?     A  few  more  dawns,  that  was  all. 

Duroy  turned  away  his  eyes  in  order  not  to  see 
the  corpse.  Mme.  Forestier's  head  was  bowed;  her 
fair  hair  enhanced  the  beauty  of  her  sorrowful  face. 
The  young  man's  heart  grew  hopeful.  Why  should 
he  lament  when  he  had  so  many  years  still  before 
him  ?  He  glanced  at  the  handsome  widow.  How 
had  she  ever  consented  to  marry  that  man  ?  Then 
he  pondered  upon  all  the  hidden  secrets  of  their 
lives.  He  remembered  that  he  had  been  told  of  a 
Count  de  Vaudrec  who  had  dowered  and  given  her 
in  marriage.  What  would  she  do  now  ?  Whom 
would  she  marry  ?  Had  she  projects,  plans  ?  He 
would  have  liked  to  know.  Why  that  anxiety  as  to 
what  she  would  do  ? 

Georges  questioned  himself,  and  found  that  it  was 
caused  by  a  desire  to  win  her  for  himself.  Why 
should  he  not  succeed  ?  He  was  positive  that  she 
liked  him;  she  would  have  confidence  in  him,  for 
she  knew  that  he  was  intelligent,  resolute,  tenacious. 
Had  she  not  sent  for  him  ?  Was  not  that  a  kind  of 
avov/al  ?  He  was  impatient  to  question  her,  to  find 
out  her  intentions.  He  would  soon  have  to  leave 
that  villa,  for  he  could  not  remain  alone  with  the 
young  widow;  therefore  he  must  find  out  her  plans 
before  returning  to  Paris,  in  order  that  she  might  not 
yield  to  another's  entreaties.  He  broke  the  oppressive 
silence  by  saying: 

"You  must  be  fatigued." 

7    G.  de  M.-7 


gS  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Yes,  but  above  all  I  am  grieved." 

Their  voices  sounded  strange  in  that  room.  They 
glanced  involuntarily  at  the  corpse  as  if  they  expected 
to  see  it  move.     Duroy  continued: 

"It  is  a  heavy  blow  for  you,  and  will  make  a 
complete  change  in  your  life." 

She  sighed  deeply,  but  did  not  reply.     He   added: 

"It  is  very  sad  for  a  young  woman  like  you  to 
be  left  alone."  He  paused;  she  still  did  not  reply, 
and  he  stammered:  "At  any  rate,  you  will  remem- 
ber the  compact  between  us;  you  can  command  me 
as  you  will.     I  am  yours." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  said  mourn- 
fully and  gently:  "Thanks,  you  are  very  kind. 
If  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  I  say  too:  'Count 
on  me.'" 

He  took  her  proffered  hand,  gazed  at  it,  and  was 
seized  with  an  ardent  desire  to  kiss  it.  Slowly  he 
raised  it  to  his  lips  and  then  relinquished  it.  As  her 
delicate  fingers  lay  upon  her  knee  the  young  widow 
said  gravely: 

"Yes,  I  shall  be  all  alone,  but  I  shall  force  myself 
to  be  brave." 

He  did  not  know  how  to  tell  her  that  he  would 
be  delighted  to  wed  her.  Certainly  it  was  no  time  to 
speak  to  her  on  such  a  subject;  however,  he  thought 
he  might  be  able  to  express  himself  by  means  of 
some  phrase  which  would  have  a  hidden  meaning 
and  would  infer  what  he  wished  to  say.  But  that 
rigid  corpse  lay  between  them.  The  atmosphere  be- 
came oppressive,  almost  suffocating.     Duroy  asked: 

"Can  we  not  open  the  window  a  little?  The  air 
seems  to  be  impure." 


BEL-AMI 


99 


"Certainly,"  she  replied;    "1  have  noticed  it  too." 

He  opened  the  window,  letting  in  the  cool  night 
Air.  He  turned:  "Come  :tnd  look  out,  it  is  delight- 
ful." 

She  glided  softly  to  his  side.  He  whispered: 
"Listen  to  me.  Do  not  be  angry  that  I  broach  the  sub- 
ject at  such  a  time,  but  the  day  after  to-morrow  I 
shall  leave  here  and  when  you  return  to  Paris  it 
might  be  too  late.  You  know  that  I  am  only  a  poor 
devil,  who  has  his  position  to  make,  but  1  have  the 
will  and  some  intelligence,  and  I  am  advancing.  A 
man  who  has  attained  his  ambition  knows  what  to 
count  on;  a  man  who  has  his  way  to  make  does  not 
know  what  may  come  —  it  may  be  better  or  worse. 
I  told  you  one  day  that  my  most  cherished  dream 
was  to  have  a  wife  like  you. 

"  I  repeat  it  to  you  to-day.  Do  not  reply,  but  let 
me  continue.  This  is  no  proposal  —  the  time  and 
place  would  render  it  odious.  1  only  wish  to  tell 
you  that  by  a  word  you  can  make  me  happy,  and 
that  you  can  make  of  me  as  you  will,  either  a  friend 
or  a  husband  —  for  my  heart  and  my  body  are  yours. 
1  do  not  want  you  to  answer  me  now.  I  do  not 
wish  to  speak  any  more  on  the  subject  here.  When 
we  meet  in  Paris,  you.  can  tell  me  your  decision." 

He  uttered  these  words  without  glancing  at  her, 
and  she  seemed  not  to  have  heard  them,  for  she  stood 
by  his  side  motionless,  staring  vaguely  and  fixedly  at 
the  landscape  before  her,  bathed  in  moonlight. 

At  length  she  murmured:  "It  is  rather  chilly," 
and  turned  toward  the  bed.  Duroy  followed  her. 
They  did  not  speak  but  continued  their  watch.  To- 
ward midnight  Georges  fell  asleep.      At  daybreak  the 


100  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

nurse  entered  and  he  started  up.  Both  he  and  Mme. 
Forestier  retired  to  their  rooms  to  obtain  some  rest. 
At  eleven  o'clock  they  rose  and  lunched  together; 
while  through  the  open  window  was  wafted  the 
sweet,  perfumed  air  of  spring.  After  lunch,  Mme. 
Forestier  proposed  that  they  take  a  turn  in  the 
garden;  as  they  walked  slowly  along,  she  suddenly 
said,  without  turning  her  head  toward  him,  in  a  low, 
grave  voice: 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear  friend;  1  have  already  re- 
flected upon  what  you  proposed  to  me,  and  I  cannot 
allow  you  to  depart  without  a  word  of  reply.  I  will, 
however,  say  neither  yes  nor  no.  We  will  wait,  we 
will  see;  we  will  become  better  acquainted.  You 
must  think  it  well  over  too.  Do  not  yield  to  an  im- 
pulse. I  mention  this  to  you  before  even  poor 
Charles  is  buried,  because  it  is  necessary,  after  what 
you  have  said  to  me,  that  you  should  know  me  as  I 
am,  in  order  not  to  cherish  the  hope  you  expressed 
to  me  any  longer,  if  you  are  not  a  man  who  can 
understand  and  bear  with  me. 

"Now  listen  carefully:  Marriage,  to  me,  is  not  a 
chain  but  an  association.  I  must  be  free,  entirely 
unfettered,  in  all  my  actions  —  my  coming  and  my 
going;  1  can  tolerate  neither,  control,  jealousy,  nor 
criticism  as  to  my  conduct.  1  pledge  my  word,  how- 
ever, never  to  compromise  the  name  of  the  man  I 
marry,  nor  to  render  him  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world.  But  that  man  must  promise  to  look  upon 
me  as  an  equal,  an  ally,  and  not  as  an  inferior,  or  as 
an  obedient,  submissive  wife.  My  ideas,  I  know,  are 
not  like  those  of  other  people,  but  I  shall  never 
change   them.     Do   not  answer  me,  it  would  be  use- 


BEL-AMI  lOI 

less.  We  shall  meet  again  and  talk  it  ail  over  later. 
Now  take  a  walk;  1  shall  return  to  him.  Good-bye 
until  to-night." 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  left  her  without  having 
uttered  a  word.  That  night  they  met  at  dinner; 
directly  after  the  meal  they  sought  their  rooms,  worn 
out  with  fatigue. 

Charles  Forestier  was  buried  the  next  day  in  the 
cemetery  at  Cannes  without  any  pomp,  and  Georges 
returned  to  Paris  by  the  express  which  left  at  one- 
thirty.  Mme.  Forestier  accompanied  him  to  the  sta- 
tion. They  walked  up  and  down  the  platform 
awaiting  the  hour  of  departure  and  conversing  on  in- 
different subjects. 

The  train  arrived,  the  journalist  took  his  seat;  a 
porter  cried:  "Marseilles,  Lyons,  Paris!  All  aboard!" 
The  locomotive  whistled  and  the  train  moved  slowly 
out  of  the  station. 

The  young  man  leaned  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
looked  at  the  youthful  widow  standing  on  the  plat- 
form gazing  after  him.  Just  as  she  was  disappearing 
from  his  sight,  he  threw  her  a  kiss,  which  she  re- 
turned with  a  more  discreet  wave  of  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Marriage 


j^^:;?^ 
P-^ 


EORGES    DuROY  resumed    his    old 
habits.      Installed    in    the    cozy 
apartments  on  Rue  de  Constan- 
tinople, his  relations  with  Mme.  de 
Marelle  became  quite  conjugal. 
Mme.  Forestiei  had  not  returned; 
she    lingered    at    Cannes,     He,  how- 
ever, received    a    letter  from    her    an- 
nouncing her   return   about   the    middle 
of  April,  but  containing  not  a  word  as  to 
their  parting.    He  waited.    He  was  resolved 
to  employ  every  means  to  marry  her  if  she 
seemed  to  hesitate;  he  had  faith  in  his  good 
fortune,  in  that  power  of  attraction  which  he 
felt    within    him  —  a    power    so    irresistible    that     all 
women  yielded  to  it. 

At   length   a   short   note  admonished  him  that  the 
decisive  moment  had  arrived. 


"  I  am  in  Paris.     Come  to  see  me. 


'Madeleine  Forestier." 


Nothing  more.     He  received  it  at  nine  o'clock.    At 
three  o'clock  of  the  same  day  he  called  at  her  house, 
(loa) 


BEL-AMI 


105 


She  extended  I  oth  hands  to  him  with  a  sweet  smile, 
and  they  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes  for  several  sec- 
onds, then  she  murmured: 

"How  kind  of  you  to  come!" 

He  replied:  "1  should  have  come,  whensoever  you 
bade  me." 

They  sat  down;  she  inquired  about  the  Walters, 
his  associates,  and  the  newspaper. 

"I  miss  that  very  much,"  said  she,  "I  had  be- 
come a  journalist  in  spirit.  1  like  the  profession." 
She  paused.  He  fancied  he  saw  in  her  smile,  in 
her  voice,  in  her  words,  a  kind  of  invitation,  and 
although  he  had  resolved  not  to  hasten  matters,  he 
stammered: 

"Well  —  why  —  why  do  you  not  resume  —  that 
profession  —  under — the  name  of  Duroy?" 

She  became  suddenly  serious,  and  placing  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  she  said:  "Do  not  let  us  speak  of  that 
yet." 

Divining  that  she  would  accept  him,  he  fell  upon 
his  knees,  and  passionately  kissed  her  hands,  saying: 

"Thank  you  —  thank  you  —  how  1  love  you." 

She  rose,  she  was  very  pale.  Duroy  kissed  her 
brow.  When  she  had  disengaged  herself  from  his 
embrace,  she  said  gravely:  "Listen,  my  friend,  I  have 
not  yet  fully  decided;  but  my  answer  may  be  'yes.' 
You  must  wait  patiently,  however,  until  I  disclose 
the  secret  to  you." 

He  promised  and  left  her,  his  heart  overflowing 
with  joy.  He  worked  steadily,  spent  little,  tried  to 
save  some  money  that  he  might  not  be  without  a  sou 
at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  and  became  as  miserly 
as  he  had  once  been  prodigal. 


104  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Summer  glided  by;  then  autumn,  and  no  one  sus- 
pected the  tie  existing  between  Duroy  and  Mme. 
Forestier,  for  they  seldom  met  in  public. 

One  evening  Madeleine  said  to  him:  "You  have 
not  yet  told  Mme.  de  Marelle  our  plans?" 

"No,  my  dear;  as  you  wished  them  kept  secret,  I 
have  not  mentioned  them  to  a  soul." 

"Very  well;  there  is  plenty  of  time.  1  will  tell 
the  Walters." 

She  turned  away  her  head  and  continued:  "If 
you  wish,  we  can  be  married  the  beginning  of  May." 

"1  obey  you  in  all  things  joyfully." 

"The  tenth  of  May,  which  falls  on  Saturday, 
would  please  me,  for  it  is  my  birthday." 

"Very  well,  the  tenth  of  May." 

"Your  parents  live  near  Rouen,  do  they  not?" 

"Yes,  near  Rouen,  at  Canteleu." 

"I  am  very  anxious  to  see  them!" 

He  hesitated,  perplexed:  "But  —  they  are — " 
Then  he  added  more  firmly:  "My  dear,  they  are 
plain,  country  people,  innkeepers,  who  strained  every 
nerve  to  give  me  an  education.  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  them,  but  their  —  simplicity  —  their  rusticity  might 
annoy  you." 

She  smiled  sweetly.  "No,  I  will  love  them  very 
much.  We  will  visit  them;  I  wish  to.  I,  too,  am 
the  child  of  humble  parents  —  but  I  lost  mine  —  1  have 
no  one  in  the  world" — she  held  out  her  hand  to  him 
—  "  but  you." 

He  was  affected,  conquered  as  he  had  never  been 
by  any  woman. 

"1  have  been  thinking  of  something,"  said  she, 
"but  it  is  difficult  to  explain." 


BEL- AMI 


105 


He  asked:     "What  is  it?" 

"It  is  tiiis:  I  am  like  all  women.  I  have  my  — 
my  weaknesses.  1  should  like  to  bear  a  noble  name. 
Can  you  not  on  the  occasion  of  our  marriage  change 
your  name  somewhat?"  She  blushed  as  if  she  had 
proposed  something  indelicate. 

He  replied  simply:  "I  have  often  thought  of  it, 
but  it  does  not  seem  easy  to  me." 

"Why  not?" 

He  laughed.  "Because  I  am  afraid  I  should  be 
ridiculed." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Not  at  all  —  not  at 
all.  Everyone  does  it,  and  no  one  laughs.  Separate 
your  name  in  this  way:  Du  Roy.  It  sounds  very 
well." 

He  replied:  "No,  that  will  not  do;  it  is  too  com- 
mon a  proceeding.  I  have  thought  of  assuming  the 
name  of  my  native  place,  first  as  a  literary  pseudo- 
nym and  then  as  my  surname  in  conjunction  with 
Duroy,  which  might  later  on,  as  you  proposed,  be 
separated." 

She  asked:  "Is  your  native  place  Canteleu?" 

"Yes." 

"I  do  not  like  the  termination.  Could  we  not 
modify  it?" 

She  took  a  pen  and  wrote  down  the  names  in 
order  to  study  them.  Suddenly  she  cried:  "Now  I 
have  it,"  and  held  toward  him  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  was  written:  "  Mme.  Duroy  de  Cantel." 

Gravely  he  replied:  "Yes,  it  is  very  nice." 

She  was  delighted,  and  repeated:  "  Duroy  de  Can- 
tel. Mme.  Duroy  de  Cantel.  It  is  excellent,  ex- 
cellent!" 


I06  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Then  she  added  with  an  air  of  conviction:  "You 
will  see  how  easily  it  will  be  accepted  by  everyone! 
After  to-morrow,  sign  your  articles  'D.  de  Cantel,' 
and  your  'Echoes'  simply  'Duroy.'  That  is  done 
on  the  press  every  day  and  no  one  will  be  surprised 
to  see  you  take  a  nom  de  plume.  What  is  your 
father's  name  ?" 

"Alexandre." 

She  murmured  "Alexandre!"  two  or  three  times 
in  succession;  then  she  wrote  upon  a  blank  sheet: 

"M.  and  Mme.  Alexandre  du  Roy  de  Cantel 
announce  the  marriage  of  their  son,  M.  Georges  du 
Roy  de  Cantel  with  Mme.  Forestier." 

She  examined  her  writing,  and,  charmed  with  the 
effect,  exclaimed:  "With  a  little  method  one  can 
succeed  in  anything." 

When  Georges  reached  the  street  resolved  to  call 
himself,  henceforth,  "  Du  Roy,"  or  even  "  Du  Roy  de 
Cantel,"  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  of  more 
importance.  He  swaggered  more  boldly,  held  his 
head  more  erect  and  walked  as  he  thought  gentlemen 
should.  He  felt  a  desire  to  inform  the  passers-by, 
"My  name  is  Du  Roy  de  Cantel." 

Scarcely  had  he  entered  his  apartments  when  the 
thought  of  Mme.  de  Marelle  rendered  him  uneasy, 
and  he  wrote  to  her  immediately,  appointing  a  meet- 
ing for  the  following  day. 

"it  will  be  hard,"  thought  he.  "There  will  be  a 
quarrel  surely." 

The  next  morning  he  received  a  telegram  from 
Madame,  informing  him  that  she  would  be  with  him 
at  one  o'clock.  He  awaited  her  impatiently,  deter- 
mined to  confess  at  once  and  afterward  to  argue  with 


BEL- AMI 


107 


her,  to  tell  her  that  he  could  not  remain  a  bachelor 
indefinitely,  and  that,  as  M.  de  Marellc  persisted  in 
living,  he  had  been  compelled  to  choose  some  one 
else  as  a  legal  companion.  When  the  bell  rang,  his 
heart  gave  a  bound. 

Mme.  de  Marelle  entered  and  cast  herself  into  his 
arms,  saying:  "Good  afternoon,  Bel-Ami."  Perceiv- 
ing that  his  embrace  was  colder  than  usual,  she 
glanced  up  at  him  and  asked:     "What  ails  you?" 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  he.  "We  must  talk  seri- 
ously." 

She  seated  herself  without  removing  her  hat,  and 
waited.  He  cast  down  his  eyes;  he  was  preparing 
to  commence. 

Finally  he  said  slowly:  "My  dear  friend,  you  see 
that  I  am  very  much  perplexed,  very  sad,  and  very 
much  embarrassed  by  what  I  have  to  confess  to  you. 
I  love  you;  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and  the 
fear  of  giving  you  pain  grieves  me  more  than  what  I 
have  to  tell  you." 

She  turned  pale,  trembled,  and  asked:  "What  is 
it?     Tell  me  quickly." 

He  said  sadly  but  resolutely:  "I  am  going  to  be 
married." 

She  sighed  like  one  about  to  lose  consciousness; 
then  she  gasped,  but  did  not  speak. 

He  continued:  "You  cannot  imagine  how  much 
I  suffered  before  taking  that  resolution.  But  I  have 
neither  position  nor  money.  I  am  alone  in  Paris,  I 
must  have  near  me  some  one  who  can  counsel,  com- 
fort, and  support  me.  What  1  need  is  an  associate, 
an  ally,  and  I  have  found  one!"  He  paused,  hoping 
that  she  would  reply,  expecting  an  outburst  of  furious 


Io8  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

rage,  reproaches,  and  insults.  She  pressed  her  hand 
to  her  heart  and  breathed  with  difficulty.  He  took 
the  hand  resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  but  she 
drew  it  away  and  murmured  as  if  stupefied:  "Oh, 
my  God! " 

He  fell  upon  his  knees  before  her,  without,  how- 
ever, venturing  to  touch  her,  more  moved  by  her 
silence  than  he  would  have  been  by  her  anger. 

"Clo,  my  little  Clo,  you  understand  my  position. 
Oh,  if  I  could  have  married  you,  what  happiness  it 
v^ould  have  afforded  me!  But  you  were  married! 
What  could  I  do?  Just  think  of  it!  I  must  make 
my  way  in  the  world  and  I  can  never  do  so  as  long 
as  I  have  no  domestic  ties.  If  you  knew.  There  are 
days  when  I  should  like  to  kill  your  husband."  He 
spoke  in  a  low,  seductive  voice.  He  saw  two  tears 
gather  in  Mme.  de  Marelle's  eyes  and  trickle  slowly 
down  her  cheeks.  He  whispered:  "Do  not  weep, 
Clo,  do  not  weep,  I  beseech  you.  You  break  my 
heart." 

She  made  an  effort  to  appear  dignified  and  haughty, 
and  asked,  though  somewhat  unsteadily:  "Who  is 
it?" 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated  before  he  replied: 
"Madeleine   Forestier!" 

Mme.  de  Marelle  started;  her  tears  continued  to 
flow.  She  rose.  Duroy  saw  that  she  was  going  to 
leave  him  without  a  word  of  reproach  or  pardon, 
and  he  felt  humbled,  humiliated.  He  seized  her  gown 
and  implored: 

"Do  not  leave  me  thus." 

She  looked  at  him  with  that  despairing,  tearful 
glance  so  charming  and  so  touching,  which  expresses 


BEL-AMI 


109 


all  the  misery  pent-up  in  a  woman's  heart,  and  stam- 
mered: "I  have  nothing  —  to  say;  I  can  do  nothing. 
You  —  you  are  right;  you  have  made  a  good  choice." 

And  disengaging  herseit  she  left  the  room. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  at  escaping  so  easily,  he  re- 
paired to  Mme.  Forestier's,  who  asked  him:  "Have 
you  told  Mme.  de  Marelle?" 

He  rephed  calmly:   "Yes." 

"Did  it  affect  her?" 

"Not  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  she  thought  it  an 
excellent  plan." 

The  news  was  soon  noised  abroad.  Some  were 
surprised,  others  pretended  to  have  foreseen  it,  and 
others  again  smiled,  inferring  that  they  were  not  at 
all  astonished.  The  young  man,  who  signed  his  ar- 
ticles, "D.  de  Cantel,"  his  "Echoes,"  "Duroy,"  and 
his  political  sketches,  "  Du  Roy,"  spent  the  best  part 
of  his  time  with  his  betrothed,  who  had  decided  that 
the  date  fixed  for  the  wedding  should  be  kept  secret, 
that  the  ceremony  should  be  celebrated  in  the  presence 
of  witnesses  only,  that  they  should  leave  the  same 
evening  for  Rouen,  and  that  the  day  following  they 
should  visit  the  journalist's  aged  parents  and  spend 
several  days  with  them.  Duroy  had  tried  to  persuade 
Madeleine  to  abandon  that  project,  but  not  succeeding 
in  his  efforts  he  was  finally  compelled  to  submit. 

The  tenth  of  May  arrived.  Thinking  a  religious 
ceremony  unnecessary,  as  they  had  issued  no  invita- 
tions, the  couple  were  married  at  a  magistrate's  and 
took  the  six  o'clock  train  for  Normandy. 

As  the  train  glided  along,  Duroy  seated  in  front 
of  his  wife,  took  her  hand,  kissed  it,  and  said:  "When 
we  return  we  will  dine  at  Chatou  sometimes." 


no  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

She  murmured:  "We  shall  have  a  great  many 
things  to  do!"  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  say:  "We 
must  sacrifice  pleasure  to  duty." 

He  retained  her  hand  wondering  anxiously  how 
he  could  manage  to  caress  her.  He  pressed  her  hand 
slightly,  but  she  did  not  respond  to  the  pressure. 

He  said:  "  It  seems  strange  that  you  should  be  my 
wife." 

She  appeared  surprised:  "Why?" 

"I  do  not  know.  It  seems  droll.  I  want  to  em- 
brace you  and  I  am  surprised  that  1  have  the  right." 

She  calmly  offered  him  her  cheek  which  he  kissed 
as  he  would  have  kissed  his   sister's.     He   continued: 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you  (you  remember,  at  that 
dinner  to  which  I  was  invited  at  Forestier's),  I  thought: 
'Sacristi,  if  I  could  only  find  a  wife  like  that!'  And 
now  I  have  one." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  smiling  eyes. 

He  said  to  himself:  "I  am  too  cold.  I  am  stu- 
pid. I  should  make  more  advances."  And  he  asked: 
"How  did  you  make  Forestier's  acquaintance?" 

She  replied  with  provoking  archness:  "Are  we 
going  to  Rouen  to  talk  of  him?" 

He  colored.     "I  am    a  fool.     You  intimidate   me." 

She  was  delighted.     "1?     Impossible." 

He  seated  himself  beside  her.  She  exclaimed: 
"Ah!  a  stag!"  The  train  was  passing  through  the 
forest  of  Saint-Germain  and  she  had  seen  a  fright- 
ened deer  clear  an  alley  at  a  bound.  As  she  gazed 
out  of  the  open  window,  Duroy  bending  over  her, 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  neck.  For  several  moments 
she  remained  motionless,  then  raising  her  head,  she 
said:  "You  tickle  me,  stop!" 


BEL- A  MI  1,1 

But  he  did  not  obey  her. 

She  repeated:     "Stop,  1  say!" 

He  seized  her  head  with  his  right  hand,  turned  it 
toward  him  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  She  strug- 
gled, pushed  him  away  and  repeated:     "Stop!" 

He  did  not  heed  her.  With  an  effort,  she  freed 
herself  and  rising,  said:  "Georges,  have  done.  We 
are  not  children,  we  shall  soon  reach  Rouen." 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  gaily,  "I  will  wait." 

Reseating  herself  near  him  she  talked  of  what 
they  would  do  on  their  return;  they  would  keep  the 
apartments  in  which  she  had  lived  with  her  first  hus- 
band, and  Duroy  would  receive  Forestier's  position  on 
"La  Vie  Franfaise."  In  the  meantime,  forgetting  her 
injunctions  and  his  promise,  he  slipped  his  arm 
around  her  waist,  pressed  her  to  him  and  murmured: 
"I  love  you  dearly,  my  little  Made." 

The  gentleness  of  his  tone  moved  the  young 
woman,  and  leaning  toward  him  she  offered  him  her 
lips;  as  she  did  so,  a  whistle  announced  the  prox- 
imity of  the  station.  Pushing  back  some  stray  locks 
upon  her  temples,  she  exclaimed: 

"We  are   foolish." 

He  kissed  her  hands  feverishly  and  replied: 

"I  adore  you,  my  little  Made." 

On  reaching  Rouen  they  repaired  to  a  hotel  where 
they  spent  the  night.  The  following  morning,  when 
they  had  drunk  the  tea  placed  upon  the  table  in  their 
room,  Duroy  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms  and  said: 
"My  little  Made,  I  feel  that  1  love  you  very,  very 
much." 

She  smiled  trustfully  and  murmured  as  she  re- 
turned his  kisses:  "I  love  you  too  —  a  little." 


112  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  visit  to  his  parents  worried  Georges,  although 
he  had  prepared  his  wife.  He  began  again:  "You 
know  they  are  peasants,  real,  not  sham,  comic-opera 
peasants." 

She  smiled.  "I  know  it,  you  have  told  me  often 
enough." 

"We  shall  be  very  uncomfortable.  There  is  only 
a  straw  bed  in  my  room;  they  do  not  know  what 
hair  mattresses  are  at  Canteleu." 

She  seemed  delighted.  "So  much  the  better.  It 
would  be  charming  to  sleep  badly  —  when  —  near  you 
—  and  to  be  awakened  by  the  crowing  of  the  cocks." 

He  walked  toward  the  window  and  lighted  a  cig- 
arette. The  sight  of  the  harbor,  of  the  river  filled 
with  ships,  moved  him  and  he  exclaimed:  "Egad,  but 
that  is  fine! " 

Madeleine  joined  him  and  placing  both  of  her 
hands  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  cried:  "Oh,  how 
beautiful!  I  did  not  know  that  there  were  so  many 
ships!  " 

An  hour  later  they  departed  in  order  to  breakfast 
with  the  old  couple,  who  had  been  informed  several 
days  before  of  their  intended  arrival.  Both  Duroy  and 
his  wife  were  charmed  with  the  beauties  of  the  land- 
scape presented  to  their  view,  and  the  cabman  halted 
in  order  to  allow  them  to  get  a  better  idea  of  the  pan- 
orama before  them.  As  he  whipped  up  his  horse, 
Duroy  saw  an  old  couple  not  a  hundred  meters  off, 
approaching,  and  he  leaped  from  the  carriage  crying: 
"Here  they  are,  I  know  them." 

The  man  was  short,  corpulent,  florid,  and  vigorous, 
notwithstanding  his  age;  the  woman  was  tall,  thin, 
and  melancholy,  with  stooping   shoulders  —  a  woman 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


"5 


who  had  worked  from  childhood,  who  had  never 
laughed  nor  jested. 

Madeleine,  too,  alighted  and  watched  the  couple 
advance,  with  a  contraction  of  her  heart  she  had  not 
anticipated.  They  did  not  recognize  their  son  in  that 
fine  gentleman,  and  they  would  never  have  taken 
that  handsome  lady  for  their  daughter-in-law.  They 
walked  along,  passed  the  child  they  were  expecting, 
without  glancing  at  the  "city  folks." 

Georges  cried  with  a  laugh:  "Good  day.  Father 
Duroy." 

Both  the  old  man  and  his  wife  were  struck  dumb 
with  astonishment;  the  latter  recovered  her  self-pos- 
session first  and  asked:   "Is  it  you,  son?" 

The  young  man  replied:  "Yes,  it  is  1,  Mother 
Duroy,"  and  approaching  her,  he  kissed  her  upon 
both  cheeks  and  said:     "This  is  my  wife." 

The  two  rustics  stared  at  Madeleine  as  if  she  were 
a  curiosity,  with  anxious  fear,  combined  with  a  sort 
of  satisfied  approbation  on  the  part  of  the  father  and 
of  jealous  enmity  on  that  of  the  mother. 

M.  Duroy,  senior,  who  was  naturally  jocose,  made 
so  bold  as  to  ask  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye:  "May 
1  kiss  you  too?"  His  son  uttered  an  exclamation  and 
Madeleine  offered  her  cheek  to  the  old  peasant,  who 
afterward  wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 
The  old  woman,  in  her  turn,  kissed  her  daughter-in- 
law  with  hostile  reserve.  Her  ideal  was  a  stout, 
rosy,  country  lass,  as  red  as  an  apple  and    as   round. 

The  carriage  preceded  them  with  the  luggage. 
The  old  man  took  his  son's  arm  and  asked  him: 
"How  are  you  getting  on?" 

"Very  well." 

7    G.  de  M.-5 


114 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"That  is  right.  Tell  me,  has  your  wife  any 
means  ?" 

Georges  replied:     "Forty  thousand  francs." 

His  father  whistled  softly  and  muttered:  "Whew!" 
Then  he  added:  "She  is  a  handsome  woman."  He 
admired  his  son's  wife,  and  in  his  day  had  considered 
himself  a  connoisseur, 

Madeleine  and  the  mother  walked  side  by  side  in 
silence;  the  two  men  joined  them.  They  soon 
reached  the  village,  at  the  entrance  to  which  stood 
M.  Duroy's  tavern.  A  pine  board  fastened  over  the 
door  indicated  that  thirsty  people  might  enter.  The 
table  was  laid.  A  neighbor,  who  had  come  to  assist, 
made  a  low  courtesy  on  seeing  so  beautiful  a  lady 
appear;  then  recognizing  Georges,  she  cried:  "Oh 
Lord,  is  it  you  ?" 

He  replied  merrily:  "Yes,  it  is  I,  Mother  Brulin," 
and  he  kissed  her  as  he  had  kissed  his  father  and 
mother.     Then  he  turned  to  his  wife: 

"Come  into  our  room,"  said  he,  "you  can  lay 
aside  your  hat." 

They  passed  through  a  door  to  the  right  and  en- 
tered a  room  paved  with  brick,  with  whitewashed 
walls  and  a  bed  with  cotton  hangings. 

A  crucifix  above  a  holy-water  basin  and  two  col- 
ored prints,  representing  Paul  and  Virginia  beneath  a 
blue  palm-tree,  and  Napoleon  1.  on  a  yellow  horse, 
were  the  only  ornaments  in  that  neat,  but  bare 
room. 

When  they  were  alone,  Georges  embraced  Made- 
leine. 

"Good  morning,  Made!  1  am  glad  to  see  the  old 
people  once  more.     When    one    is    in  Paris   one  does 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


»'5 


not  think  of  this  place,  but  when  one  returns,  one 
enjoys  it  just  the  same." 

At  that  moment  his  father  cried,  knocking  on  the 
partition  with  his  fist:  "Come,  the  soup  is  ready." 

They  re-entered  the  large  public-room  and  took 
their  seats  at  the  table.  The  meal  was  a  long  one, 
served  in  a  truly  rustic  fashion.  Father  Duroy,  en- 
livened by  the  cider  and  several  glasses  of  wine, 
related  many  anecdotes,  while  Georges,  to  whom 
they  were  all  familiar,  laughed  at  them. 

Mother  Duroy  did  not  speak,  but  sat  at  the  board, 
grim  and  austere,  glancing  at  her  daughter-in-law 
with  hatred  in  her  heart. 

Madeleine  did  not  speak  nor  did  she  eat;  she  was 
depressed.  Wherefore?  She  had  wished  to  come; 
she  knew  that  she  was  coming  to  a  simple  home; 
she  had  formed  no  poetical  ideas  of  those  peasants, 
but  she  had  perhaps  expected  to  find  them  somewhat 
more  polished,  refined.  She  recalled  her  own  mother, 
of  whom  she  never  spoke  to  anyone  —  a  governess 
who  had  been  betrayed  and  who  had  died  of  grief 
and  shame  when  Madeleine  was  twelve  years  old.  A 
stranger  had  had  the  little  girl  educated.  Her  father 
without  doubt.  Who  was  he  ?  She  did  not  know 
positively,  but  she  had  vague  suspicions. 

The  meal  was  not  yet  over  when  customers 
entered,  shook  hands  with  M.  Duroy,  exclaimed  on 
seeing  his  son,  and  seating  themselves  at  the  wooden 
tables  began  to  drink,  smoke,  and  play  dominoes. 
The  smoke  from  the  clay  pipes  and  penny  cigars 
filled  the  room. 

Madeleine  choked  and  asked:  "Can  we  go  out? 
I  cannot  remain  here  any  longer." 


Il6  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

Old  Duroy  grumbled  at  being  disturbed.  Mad- 
eleine rose  and  placed  her  chair  at  the  door  in  order 
to  v/ait  until  her  father-in-law  and  his  wife  had 
finished  their  coffee  and  wine. 

Georges  soon  joined  her. 

"Would  you  like  to  stroll  down  to  the  Seine?" 
he  asked. 

Joyfully  she  cried:  "Yes." 

They  descended  the  hillside,  hired  a  boat  at 
Croisset,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon 
beneath  the  willows  in  the  soft,  warm,  spring  air, 
and  rocked  gently  by  the  rippling  waves  of  the  river. 
They  returned  at  nightfall.  The  evening  repast  by 
candle-light  was  more  painful  to  Madeleine  than  that 
of  the  morning.  Neither  Father  Duroy  nor  his  wife 
spoke.  When  the  meal  was  over,  Madeleine  drew 
her  husband  outside  in  order  not  to  have  to  remain 
in  that  room,  the  atmosphere  of  which  was  heavy 
with  smoke  and  the  fumes  of  liquor. 

When  they  were  alone,  he  said:  "You  are  already 
weary." 

She  attempted  to  protest;  he  interrupted  her: 

"I  have  seen  it.  If  you  wish  we  will  leave  to- 
morrow." 

She  whispered:     "I  should  like  to  go." 

They  walked  along  and  entered  a  narrow  path 
among  high  trees,  hedged  in  on  either  side  by 
impenetrable  brushwood. 

She  asked:     "Where  are  we?" 

He  replied:  "In  the  forest  —  one  of  the  largest  in 
France." 

Madeleine,  on  raising  her  head,  could  see  the  stars 
between   the    branches    and    hear   the   rustling  of  the 


BEL-AMI 


117 


leaves.  She  felt  strangely  nervous.  Why,  she  could 
not  tell.  She  seemed  to  be  lost,  surrounded  by  perils, 
abandoned,  alone,  beneath  that  vast  vaulted  sky. 

She  murmured:  "1  am  afraid;  I  should  like  to 
return." 

"Very  well,  we  will." 

On  their  return  they  found  the  old  people  in  bed. 
The  next  morning  Madeleine  rose  early  and  was 
ready  to  leave  at  daybreak.  When  Georges  told  his 
parents  that  they  were  going  to  return  home,  they 
guessed  whose  wish  it  was. 

His  father  asked  simply:  "Shall  1  see  you  soon 
again  ?" 

"Yes  —  in  the  summer-time." 

"Very  well." 

His  mother  grumbled:  "I  hope  you  will  not  re- 
gret what  you  have  done." 

Georges  gave  them  two  hundred  francs  to  appease 
them,  and  the  cab  arriving  at  ten  o'clock,  the  couple 
kis.sed  the  old  peasants  and  set  out. 

As  they  were  descending  the  side  of  the  hill, 
Duroy  laughed.  "You  see,"  said  he,  "I  warned  you. 
I  should,  however,  not  have  presented  you  to  M.  and 
Mme.  du  Roy  de  Cantel,  senior." 

She  laughed  too  and  replied:  "  1  am  charmed  nov; ! 
They  are  nice  people  whom  1  am  beginning  to  like 
very  much,  1  shall  send  them  confections  from  Paris." 
Then  she  murmured:  "  Du  Roy  de  Cantel.  We  will 
say  that  we  spent  a  week  at  your  parents'  estate," 
and  drawing  near  him,  she  kissed  him  saying: 

"Good  morning,  Georges." 

He  replied:  "Good  morning,  Madeleine,"  as  he 
slipped  his  arm  around  her  waist. 


CHAPTER   X. 


Jealousy 


-HE  Du  Roys   had   been   in   Paris 
two  days  and  the  journalist  had 
resumed    work;    he    had   given 
up   his  own   especial    province   to 
assume   that   of   Forestier,  and   to 
devote  himself  entirely  to  politics. 
On    this    particular    evening    he 
turned  his  steps  toward  home  with 
a   light   heart.     As    he  passed   a  flor- 
ist's on  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  he 
bought  a  bouquet  of  half-open  roses  for 
Madeleine.     Having  forgotten   his  key,  on 
*N  ^'        arriving  at  his  door,  he  rang  and  the  servant 
^:i»        answered  his  summons. 

Georges  asked:     "Is  Madame  at  home?" 
"Yes,  sir." 

In  the  dining-room  he  paused  in  astonishment  to 
see  covers  laid  for  three:  the  door  of  the  salon  be- 
ing ajar,  he  saw  Madeleine  arranging  in  a  vase  on 
the  mantelpiece  a  bunch  of  roses  similar  to  his. 

He  entered  the  room  and  asked:  "Have  you  in- 
vited anyone  to  dinner?" 

She    replied   without   turning    her   head   and    con- 
tinuing the   arrangement  of  her  flowers:     "Yes   and 
(m8> 


BEL-AMI 


119 


no:  it  is  my  old  friend,  Count  de  Vaudrec,  who  is 
in  the  habit  of  dining  here  every  Monday  and  who 
will  come  now  as  he  always  has." 

Georges  murmured:     "Very  well." 

He  stopped  behind  her,  the  bouquet  in  his  hand, 
the  desire  strong  within  him  to  conceal  it  —  to  throw 
it  away.     However,  he  said: 

"Here,  1  have  brought  you  some  roses  1" 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  and  said:  "Ah, 
how  thoughtful  of  you!"  and  she  kissed  him  with 
such  evident  affection  that  he  felt  consoled. 

She  took  the  flowers,  inhaled  their  perfume,  and 
put  them  in  an  empty  vase.  Then  she  said  as  she 
noted  the  effect:  "Now  1  am  satisfied;  my  mantel- 
piece looks  pretty,"  adding  with  an  air  of  conviction; 
"Vaudrec  is  charming;  you  will  become  intimate 
with  him  at  once," 

A  ring  announced  the  Count.  He  entered  as  if 
he  were  at  home.  After  gallantly  kissing  Mme.  Du 
Roy's  hand,  he  turned  to  her  husband  and  cordially 
offered  his  hand,  saying:  "How  are  you,  my  dear 
Du  Roy?" 

He  had  no  longer  that  haughty  air,  but  was  very 
affable.  One  would  have  thought  in  the  course  of 
five  minutes,  that  the  two  men  had  known  one  an- 
other for  ten  years.  Madeleine,  whose  face  was 
radiant,  said:  "1  will  leave  you  together.  I  have 
work  to  superintend  in  the  kitchen."  The  dinner 
was  excellent  and  the  Count  remained  very  late. 
When  he  was  gone,  Madeleine  said  to  her  husband: 
"is  he  not  nice?  He  improves,  too,  on  acquaintance. 
He  is  a  good,  true,  faithful  friend.  Ah,  without 
him  —  " 


120  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  did  not  complete  her  sentence  and  Georges 
replied:  "Yes,  he  is  very  pleasant.  I  think  we  shall 
understand  each  other  well." 

"You  do  not  know,"  she  said,  "that  we  have 
work  to  do  to-night  before  retiring.  I  did  not  have 
time  to  tell  you  before  dinner,  for  Vaudrec  came. 
Laroche-Mathieu  brought  me  important  news  of  Mo- 
rocco. We  must  make  a  fine  article  of  that.  Let  us 
set  to  work  at  once.     Come,  take  the  lamp." 

He  carried  the  lamp  and  they  entered  the  study. 
Madeleine  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece,  and  having 
lighted  a  cigarette,  told  him  the  news  and  gave  him 
her  plan  of  the  article.  He  listened  attentively, 
making  notes  as  she  spoke,  and  when  she  had  fin- 
ished he  raised  objections,  took  up  the  question  and, 
in  his  turn,  developed  another  plan.  His  wife  ceased 
smoking,  for  her  interest  was  aroused  in  following 
Georges's  line  of  thought.  From  time  to  time  she 
murmured:  "Yes,  yes;  very  good  —  excellent  —  very 
forcible  — "  And  when  he  had  finished  speaking,  she 
said:     "Now  let  us  write." 

It  was  always  difficult  for  him  to  make  a  begin- 
ning and  she  would  lean  over  his  shoulder  and  whis- 
per the  phrases  in  his  ear,  then  he  would  add  a  few 
lines;  when  their  article  was  completed,  Georges 
re-read  it.  Both  he  and  Madeleine  pronounced  it 
admirable  and  kissed  one  another  with  passionate  ad- 
miration. 

The  article  appeared  with  the  signature  of  "G.  du 
Roy  de  Cantel,"  and  made  a  great  sensation.  M. 
Walter  congratulated  the  author,  who  soon  became 
celebrated  in  political  circles.  His  wife,  too,  surprised 
him  by  the  ingenuousness  of  her  mind,  the  cleverness 


BEL-AMI  121 

of  her  wit,  and  the  number  of  her  acquaintances.  At 
almost  any  time  upon  returning  home  he  found  in  his 
salon  a  senator,  a  deputy,  a  magistrate,  or  a  general, 
who  treated  Madeleine  with  grave  familiarity. 

Deputy  Laroche-Mathieu,  who  dined  at  Rue  Fon- 
taine every  Tuesday,  was  one  of  the  largest  stock- 
holders of  M.  Walter's  paper  and  the  hitter's  colleague 
and  associate  in  many  business  transactions.  Du  Roy 
hoped,  later  on,  that  some  of  the  benefits  promised 
by  him  to  Forestier  might  fall  to  his  share.  They 
would  be  given  to  Madeleine's  new  husband  —  that 
was  all  —  nothing  was  changed;  even  his  associates 
sometimes  called  him  Forestier,  and  it  made  Du  Roy 
furious  at  the  dead.  He  grew  to  hate  the  very  name; 
it  was  to  him  almost  an  insult.  Even  at  home  the 
obsession  continued;  the  entire  house  reminded  him 
of  Charles. 

One  evening  Du  Roy,  who  liked  sweetmeats,  asked: 

"Why  do  we  never  have  sweets.?" 

His  wife  replied  pleasantly:  "1  never  think  of  it, 
because  Charles  disliked  them." 

He  interrupted  her  with  an  impatient  gesture: 
"Do  you  know  1  am  getting  tired  of  Charles?  It  is 
Charles  here,  Charles  there,  Charles  liked  this,  Charles 
liked  that.  Since  Charles  is  dead,  let  him  rest  in 
peace." 

Madeleine  ascribed  her  husband's  burst  of  ill  humor 
to  puerile  jealousy,  but  she  was  flattered  and  did  not 
reply.  On  retiring,  haunted  by  the  same  thought, 
he  asked: 

"Did  Charles  wear  a  cotton  nightcap  to  keep  the 
draft  out  of  his  ears  ?" 

She  replied  pleasantly:  *'No,  a  lace  one!" 


122  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Georges  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  scorn- 
fully: "What  a  bird!" 

From  that  time  Georges  never  called  Charles  any- 
thing but  "poor  Charles,"  with  an  accent  of  infinite 
pity.  One  evening  as  Du  Roy  was  smoking  a  ciga- 
rette at  his  window,  toward  the  end  of  June,  the  heat 
awoke  in  him  a  desire  for  fresh  air.     He  asked: 

"My  little  Made,  would  you  hke  to  %o  as  far  as 
the  Bois?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

They  took  an  open  carriage  and  drove  to  the  Ave- 
nue du  Bois  de  Boulogne.  It  was  a  sultry  evening; 
a  host  of  cabs  lined  the  drive,  one  behind  another. 
When  the  carriage  containing  Georges  and  Madeleine 
reached  the  turning  which  led  to  the  fortifications, 
they  kissed  one  another  and  Madeleine  stammered  in 
confusion:  "We  are  as  childish  as  we  were  at  Rouen." 

The  road  they  followed  was  not  so  much  fre- 
quented, a  gentle  breeze  rustled  the  leaves  of  the 
trees,  the  sky  was  studded  with  brilliant  stars  and 
Georges  murmured,  as  he  pressed  his  wife  to  his 
breast:  "Oh,  my  little  Made." 

She  said  to  him:  "Do  you  remember  how  gloomy 
the  forest  at  Canteleu  was  ?  It  seemed  to  me  that  it 
was  full  of  horrible  beasts  and  that  it  was  intermi- 
nable, while  here  it  is  charming.  One  can  feel  the 
caressing  breezes,  and  1  know  that  Sevres  is  on  the 
other  side." 

He  replied:  "In  our  forests  there  are  nothing  but 
stags,  foxes,  roebucks,  and  boars,  with  here  and  there 
a  forester's  house."  He  paused  for  a  moment  and 
then  asked:  "Did  you  come  here  in  the  evening  with 
Charles  occasionally  ?  " 


BEL-AMI 


123 


She  replied:  "Frequently." 

He  felt  a  desire  to  return  home  at  once.  Fores- 
tier's  image  haunted  him,  however;  he  could  think 
of  nothing  else.  The  carriage  rolled  on  toward  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe  and  joined  the  stream  of  carriages 
returning  home.  As  Georges  remained  silent,  his 
wife,  who  divined  his  thoughts,  asked  in  her  soft 
voice:  " 0(  what  are  you  thinking?  For  half  an  hour 
you  have  not  uttered  a  word." 

He  replied  with  a  sneer:  "I  am  thinking  of  all 
those  fools  who  kiss  one  another,  and  I  believe  truly 
that  there  is  something  else  to  be  done  in  life." 

She  whispered:  "Yes,  but  it  is  nice  sometimesl 
It  is  nice  when  one  has  nothing  better  to  do." 

Georges'  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  dead;  he 
said  to  himself  angrily:  "I  am  foolish  to  worry,  to 
torment  myself  as  I  have  done."  After  remonstrating 
thus  with  himself,  he  felt  more  reconciled  to  the 
thought  of  Forestier,  and  felt  like  exclaiming:  "Good 
evening,  old  fellow!" 

Madeleine,  who  was  bored  by  his  silence,  asked: 
"Shall  we  go  to  Tortoni's  for  ices  before  returning 
home?  " 

He  glanced  at  her  from  his  corner  and  thought: 
"She  is  pretty;  so  much  the  better.  Tit  for  tat,  my 
comrade.  But  if  they  begin  again  to  annoy  me  with 
you,  it  will  get  somewhat  hot  at  the  North  Pole!" 

Then  he  replied:  "Certainly,  my  darling,"  and 
before  she  had  time  to  think  he  kissed  her.  It  seemed 
to  Madeleine  that  her  husband's  lips  were  icy.  How- 
ever he  smiled  as  usual  and  gave  her  his  hand  to 
assist  her  to  alight  at  the  ca/^. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


Madame  Walter  Takes  a  Hand 


O 


N  ENTERING  the   office  the  following 

day,  Du  Roy  sought  Boisrenard  and 

told  him  to  warn  his  associates  not 

to    continue    the    farce   of  calling   him 

Fofestier,    or     there     would     be    war. 

When  Du  Roy  returned  an  hour  later, 

no     one    called     him    by    that     name. 

From    the    office    he    proceeded   to    his 

-  home,  and  hearing  the  sound  of  ladies' 

voices  in   the    drawing-room,  he    asked 

servant:     "Who  is  here?" 

"Mme.  Walter   and    Mme.  de   Marelle,"  was 

the  reply. 

His  heart  pulsated  violently  as  he  opened  the 
J    door.     Clotilde    was   seated   by   the   fireplace;    it 
seemed  to  Georges  that  she   turned    pale  on    perceiv- 
ing him. 

Having  greeted  Mme.  Walter  and  her  two  daugh- 
ters seated  like  sentinels  beside  her,  he  turned  to  his 
former  mistress.  She  extended  her  hand;  he  took 
and  pressed  it  as  if  to  say:  "I  love  you  still!"  She 
returned  the  pressure. 

He  said:  "  Have  you  been  well  since  we  last  met  ?" 
(■24) 


BEL-AMI 


125 


"Yes;  have  you,  Bel-Ami?"  And  turning  to  Mad- 
eleine she  added:  "Will  you  permit  me  to  call  him 
Bel-Ami?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear;  1  will  permit  anything  you 
wish." 

A  shade  of  irony  lurked  beneath  those  words, 
altered  so  pleasantly. 

Mme,  Walter  mentioned  a  fencing-match  to  be 
given  at  Jacques  Rival's  apartments,  the  proceeds  to 
be  devoted  to  charities,  and  in  which  many  society 
ladies  were  going  to  assist.  She  said:  "It  will  be 
very  entertaining;  but  I  am  in  despair,  for  we  have 
no  one  to  escort  us,  my  husband  having  an  engage- 
ment." 

Du  Roy  offered  his  services  at  once.  She  accepted, 
saying:    "My  daughters  and  I  shall  be  very  grateful." 

He  glanced  at  the  younger  of  the  two  girls  and 
thought:  "Little  Suzanne  is  not  at  all  bad,  not  at 
all." 

She  resembled  a  doll,  being  very  small  and  dainty, 
with  a  well-proportioned  form,  a  pretty,  delicate  face, 
blue-gray  eyes,  a  fair  skin,  and  curly,  flaxen  hair. 
Her  elder  sister,  Rose,  was  plain  —  one  of  those  girls 
to  whom  no  attention  is  ever  paid.  Her  mother  rose, 
and  turning  to  Georges,  said:  "I  shall  count  on  you 
next  Thursday  at  two  o'clock." 

He  replied:     "Count  upon  me,  Madame." 

When  the  door  closed  upon  Mme.  Walter,  Mme. 
de  Marelle,  in  her  turn,  rose. 

"  y^u  revoir,  Bel-Ami." 

This  time  she  pressed  his  hand  and  he  was  moved 
by  that  silent  avowal.  "I  will  go  to  see  her  to-mor- 
row," thought  he. 


126  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Left  alone  with  his  wife,  she  laughed,  and  looking 
into  his  eyes  said:  "Mme.  Walter  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  you!" 

He  replied  incredulously:    " Nonsense  1" 

"But  1  know  it.  She  spoke  of  you  to  me  with 
great  enthusiasm.  She  said  she  would  like  to  find 
two  husbands  like  you  for  her  daughters.  Fortu- 
nately she  is  not  susceptible  herself." 

He  did  not  understand  her  and  repeated:  "Sus- 
ceptible herself?" 

She  replied  in  a  tone  of  conviction:  "Oh,  Mme. 
Walter  is  irreproachable.  Her  husband  you  know  as 
well  as  I.  But  she  is  different.  Still  she  has  suffered 
a  great  deal  in  having  married  a  Jew,  though  she  has 
been  true  to  him;  she  is  a  virtuous  woman." 

Du  Roy  was  surprised:  "1  thought  her  a  Jewess." 

"She  a  Jewess!  No,  indeed!  She  is  the  prime 
mover  in  all  the  charitable  movements  at  the  Made- 
leine. She  was  even  married  by  a  priest.  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  M.  Walter  went  through  the  form  of 
baptism." 

Georges  murmured:  "And  —  she  —  likes  —  me  —  " 

"Yes.  If  you  were  not  married  I  should  advise 
you  to  ask  for  the  hand  of — Suzanne  —  would  you 
not  prefer  her  to  Rose?" 

He  replied  as  he  twisted  his  mustache:  "Eh!  the 
mother  is  not  so  bad!" 

Madeleine  replied:  "1  am  not  afraid  of  her.  At 
her  age  one  does  not  begin  to  make  conquests  —  one 
should  commence  sooner." 

Georges  thought:  "If  I  might  have  had  Suzanne, 
ah!"  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "Bah,  it  is 
absurd;  her  father  would  not  have  consented." 


BEL-AMI 


127 


He  determined  to  treat  Mine.  Walter  very  consid- 
erately in  order  to  retain  her  regard.  Ail  that  even- 
ing he  was  haunted  by  recollections  of  his  love  for 
Clotilde;  he  recalled  their  escapades,  her  kindness. 
He  repeated  to  himself:  "She  is  indeed  nice.  Yes, 
\  shall  call  upon  her  to-morrov/." 

When  he  had  lunched  the  following  morning  he 
repaired  to  Rue  Verneuil.  The  same  maid  opened 
the  door,  and  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  servant 
she  asked:  "Is  Monsieur  well?" 

He  replied:  "Yes,  my  child,"  and  entered  the 
drawing-room  in  which  some  one  was  practising 
scales.  It  was  Laurine.  He  expected  she  would  fall 
upon  his  neck.  She,  however,  rose  ceremoniously, 
bowed  coldly,  and  left  the  room  with  dignity;  her 
manner  was  so  much  like  that  of  an  outraged  woman 
that  he  was  amazed.  Her  mother  entered.  He  kissed 
her  hand. 

"How  much  I  have  thought  of  you,"  said  he. 

"And  I  of  you,"  she  replied. 

They  seated  themselves  and  smiled  as  they  gazed 
into  one  another's  eyes. 

"My  dear  little  Clo,  I  love  you." 

"And  I  love  you." 

"Still  —  still — you  did  not  miss  me." 

"Yes  and  no.  I  was  grieved,  but  when  I  heard 
your  reason,  1  said  to  myself:  '  Bah,  he  will  return 
to  me  some  day.'" 

"I  dared  not  come.  I  did  not  know  how  I  should 
be  received.  I  dared  not,  but  I  longed  to  come. 
Now,  tell  me  what  ails  Laurine;  she  scarcely  bade 
me  good  morning  and  left  the  room  with  an  angry 
air." 


128  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  one  cannot  mention  you  to 
her  since  your  marriage;  I  really  believe  she  is  jeal- 
ous." 

"Nonsense." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  she  no  longer  calls  you  Bel-Ami, 
but  M.  Forestier  instead." 

Du  Roy  colored,  then  drawing  nearer  the  young 
woman,  he  said:     "Kiss  me." 

She  obeyed  him. 

"Where  can  we  meet  again?"  he  asked. 

"At  Rue  de  Constantinople." 

"Ah,  are  the  apartments  not  rented?" 

"No,  I  kept  them." 

"You  did.?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  you  would  return." 

His  heart  bounded  joyfully.  She  loved  him  then 
with  a  lasting  love!  He  whispered:  "I  adore  you." 
Then  he  asked:     "Is  your  husband  well .?  " 

"  Yes,  very  well.  He  has  just  been  home  for  a 
month;    he  went  away  the  day  before  yesterday." 

Du  Roy  could  not  suppress  a  smile:  "How  op- 
portunely that  always  happens!" 

She  replied  naively:  "Yes,  it  happens  opportunely, 
but  he  is  not  in  the  way  when  he  is  here;  is  he?" 

"That  is  true;  he  is  a  charming  man!" 

"How  do  you  like  your  new  life?" 

"Tolerably;  my  wife  is  a  comrade,  an  associate, 
nothing  more;  as  for  my  heart  — " 

"1  understand;  but  she  is  good." 

"Yes,  she  does  not  trouble   me." 

He  drew  near  Clotilde  and  murmured:  "When 
shall  we  meet  again?" 

"To-morrow,  if  you  will." 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I  I  29 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock." 

He  rose  to  take  his  leave  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"You  know  I  intend  to  take  back  the  rooms  on 
Rue  de  Constantinople  myself.  I  wish  to;  it  is  not 
necessary  for  you  to  pay  for  them." 

She  kissed  his  hands,  saying:  "You  may  do  as 
you  like.  I  am  satisfied  to  have  kept  them  until  we 
met  again."  And  Du  Roy  took  his  leave  very  well 
satisfied. 

When  Thursday  came,  he  asked  Madeleine:  "Are 
you  not  going  to  the  fencing-match  at  Rival's?" 

"No,  1  do  not  care  about  it.  1  will  go  to  the 
chamber  of  deputies." 

Georges  called  for  Mme.  Walter  in  an  open  car- 
riage, for  the  weather  was  delightful.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  her  looking  so  handsome  and  so 
young.  Never  had  she  appeared  so  fresh.  Her 
daughter,  Suzanne,  was  dressed  in  pink;  her  sister 
looked  like  her  governess.  At  Rival's  door  was  a 
long  line  of  carriages.  Du  Roy  offered  his  arm  to 
Mme.  Walter  and  they  entered. 

The  entertainment  was  for  the  benefit  of  the  or- 
phans of  the  Sixth  Ward  under  the  patronage  of  all 
the  wives  of  the  senators  and  deputies  who  were 
connected  with  "La  Vie  Fran^aise." 

Jacques  Rival  received  the  arrivals  at  the  entrance 
to  his  apartments,  then  he  pointed  to  a  small  stair- 
case which  led  to  the  cellar  in  which  were  his  shooting- 
gallery  and  fencing-room,  saying:  "Downstairs,  ladies, 
downstairs.  The  match  will  take  place  in  the  sub- 
terranean apartments." 

Pressing  Du  Roy's  hand,  he  said:  "Good  evening, 
BeKAmi." 

7     G.  de  M. — 9 


I30 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Du  Roy  was  surprised:  "Who  told  you  about 
that  name  ?  " 

Rival  replied:  "Mme.  Walter,  who  thinks  it  very 
pretty." 

Mme.  Walter  blushed. 

"Yes,  I  confess  that  if  I  knew  you  better,  I  should 
do  as  little  taurine,  and  I  should  call  you  Bel-Ami, 
too.     It  suits  you  admirably." 

Du  Roy  laughed.     "I  beg  you  to  do  so,  Madame." 

She  cast  down  her  eyes.  "No,  we  are  not  well 
enough  acquainted." 

He  murmured:  "Permit  me  to  hope  that  we  shall 
become  so.  " 

"Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  she. 

They  descended  the  stairs  and  entered  a  large 
room,  which  was  lighted  by  Venetian  lanterns  and 
decorated  with  festoons  of  gauze.  Nearly  all  the 
benches  were  filled  with  ladies,  who  were  chatting 
as  if  they  were  at  a  theater.  Mme.  Walter  and  her 
daughters  reached  their   seats  in  the  front  row. 

Du  Roy,  having  obtained  their  places  for  them, 
whispered:  "I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  you;  men 
cannot  occupy  the  seats." 

Mme.  Walter  replied  hesitatingly:  "I  should  like 
to  keep  you,  just  the  same.  You  could  tell  me  the 
names  of  the  participants.  See,  if  you  stand  at 
the  end  of  the  seat,  you  will  not  annoy  anyone." 
She  raised  her  large,  soft  eyes  to  his  and  in- 
sisted: "Come,  stay  with  us  —  Bel-Ami  —  we  need 
you! " 

He  replied:      "1  obey  with  pleasure,   Madame!" 

Suddenly  Jacques  Rival's  voice  announced:  "We 
will  begin,  ladies." 


BEL- AMI 


131 


Then  followed  the  fencing-match.  Du  Roy  re- 
tained his  place  beside  the  ladies  and  gave  them  ail 
the  necessary  information.  When  the  entertainment 
was  over  and  all  expenses  were  paid,  two  hundred 
and  twenty  francs  remained  for  the  orphans  of  the 
Sixth  Ward. 

Du  Roy,  escorting  the  Walters,  awaited  his  car- 
riage. When  seated  face  to  face  with  Mme,  Walter, 
he  met  her  troubled  but  caressing  glance. 

"Egad,  I  believe  she  is  affected,"  thought  he;  and 
he  smiled  as  he  recognized  the  fact  that  he  was  really 
successful  with  the  female  sex,  for  Mme.  de  Marelle, 
since  the  renewal  of  their  relations,  seemed  to  love 
him  madly. 

With  a  light  heart  he  returned  home.  Madeleine 
was  awaiting  him  in  the  drawing-room. 

"1  have  some  news,"  said  she.  "The  affair  with 
Morocco  is  becoming  complicated.  France  may  send 
an  expedition  out  there  in  several  months.  In  any 
case  the  ministry  will  be  overthrown  and  Laroche 
will  profit  by  the  occasion." 

Du  Roy,  in  order  to  draw  out  his  wife,  pretended 
not  to  believe  it.  "France  would  not  be  silly  enough 
to  commence  any  folly  with  Tunis!" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently.  "I  tell 
you  she  will!  You  do  not  understand  that  it  is  a 
question  of  money  —  you  are    as  simple  as  Forestier." 

Her  object  was  to  wound  and  irritate  him,  but  he 
only  smiled  and  replied:  "What!  as  simple  as  that 
stupid  fellow?" 

She  ceased  and  murmured:     "Oh,  Georges!" 

He  added:  "Poor  devil!"  in  a  tone  of  profound 
pity. 


I  -2  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Madeleine  turned  her  back  upon  him  scornfully; 
after  a  moment  of  silence,  she  continued:  "We  shall 
have  some  company  Tuesday.  Mme.  Laroche-Mathieu 
is  coming  here  to  dine  with  Viscountess  de  Percemur. 
Will  you  invite  Rival  and  Norbert  de  Varenne?  1 
shall  go  to  Mmes.  Walter  and  de  Marelle  to-morrow. 
Perhaps,  too,  we  may  have  Mme.  Rissolin." 

Du  Roy  replied:  "Very  well,  I  will  see  to  Rival 
and  Norbert." 

The  following  day  he  thought  he  would  anticipate 
his  wife's  visit  to  Mme.  Walter  and  attempt  to  find 
out  if  she  really  was  in  love  with  him.  He  arrived 
at  Boulevard  Malesherbes  at  two  o'clock.  He  was 
ushered  into  the  salon  and  waited.  Finally  Mme. 
Walter  appeared  and  offered  him  her  hand  cordially. 
"What  good  wind  blows   you  here.?" 

"No  good  wind,  but  a  desire  to  see  you.  Some 
power  has  impelled  me  hither,  1  do  not  know  why; 
I  have  nothing  to  say  except  that  I  have  come;  here 
1  am!  Pardon  the  morning  call  and  the  candor  of 
my  explanation," 

He  uttered  those  words  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips 
and  a  serious  accent  in  his  voice. 

In  her  astonishment,  she  stammered  with  a  blush: 
"But  indeed  —  1  do  not  understand  —  you  surprise  me." 

He  added:  "It  is  a  declaration  made  in  jest  in 
order  not  to  startle  you." 

They  were  seated  near  each  other.  She  took  the 
matter  as  a  jest.     "Is  it  a  declaration  —  seriously?" 

"Yes,  for  a  long  time  I  have  wished  to  make 
it,  but  I  dared  not;  they  say  you  are  so  austere,  so 
rigid." 

She  had  recovered  her  self-possession  and  replied: 


BEL- AMI 


133 


"Why  did  you  choose  to-day?" 

"I  do  not  know."  Then  he  lowered  his  voice: 
"Or  rather  because  I  have  thought  only  of  you  since 
yesterday." 

Suddenly  turning  pale,  she  gasped:  "Come,  enough 
of  this  childishness!      Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

But  he  fell  upon  his  knees  before  her.  She  tried 
to  rise;  he  prevented  her  by  twining  his  arms  about 
her  waist,  and  repeated  in  a  passionate  voice:  "Yes, 
it  is  true  that  I  have  loved  you  madly  for  some  time. 
Do  not  answer  me.  I  am  mad  —  I  love  you.  Oh,  if 
you  knew  how  I  love  youl" 

She  could  utter  no  sound;  in  her  agitation  she 
repulsed  him  with  both  hands,  for  she  could  feel  his 
breath  upon  her  cheek.  He  rose  suddenly  and 
attempted  to  embrace  her,  but  gaining  her  liberty  for 
a  moment,  she  escaped  him  and  ran  from  chair  to 
chair.  He,  considering  such  pursuit  beneath  his 
dignity,  sank  into  a  chair,  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  feigned  to  sob  convulsively.  Then  he 
rose,  cried: 

"Adieu,  adieu!"  and  fled. 

In  the  hall  he  took  his  cane  calmly  and  left  the 
house  saying:    '*Cristi!  I  believe  she  loves  me!" 

He  went  at  once  to  the  telegraph  office  to  send  a 
message  to  Clotilde,  appointing  a  rendezvous  for  the 
next  day. 

On  entering  the  house  at  his  usual  time,  he  said 
to  his  wife:    "Well,  is  everyone  coming  to  dinner?" 

She  replied:  "Yes,  all  but  Mme.  Walter,  who  is 
uncertain  as  to  whether  she  can  come.  She  acted 
very  strangely.  Never  mind,  perhaps  she  can  manage 
it  anyway." 


134 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


He  replied:     "She  will   come." 

He  was  not,  however,  certain  and  was  rendered 
uneasy  until  the  day  of  the  dinner.  That  morning 
Madeleine  received  a  message  from  Mme.  Walter  to 
this  effect:  "1  have  succeeded  in  arranging  matters 
and  I  shall  be  with  you,  but  my  husband  cannot  ac- 
company me." 

Du  Roy  thought:  "I  did  right  not  to  return 
there.  She  has  calmed  down."  Still  he  awaited  her 
arrival  anxiously. 

She  appeared  very  composed,  somewhat  reserved, 
and  haughty.  He  was  very  humble,  very  careful,  and 
submissive.  Mmes.  Laroche-Mathieu  and  Rissolin 
were  accompanied  by  their  husbands.  Mme.  de  Ma- 
relle  looked  bewitching  in  an  odd  combination  of 
yellow  and  black. 

At  Du  Roy's  right  sat  Mme.  Walter,  and  he  spoke 
to  her  only  of  serious  matters  with  exaggerated 
respect.     From  time  to  time  he  glanced  at  Clotilde. 

"She  is  really  very  pretty  and  fresh  looking," 
thought  he.  But  Mme.  Walter  attracted  him  by 
the  difficulty  of  the  conquest.  She  took  her  leave 
early. 

"I  will  escort  you,"  said  he. 

She  declined  his  offer.  He  insisted:  "Why  do 
you  not  want  me?  You  wound  me  deeply.  Do  not 
let  me  feel  that  I  am  not  forgiven.  You  see  that  I 
am  calm." 

She  replied:   "You  cannot  leave  your  guests  thus." 

He  smiled:  "Bah!  1  shall  be  absent  twenty  min- 
utes. No  one  will  even  notice  it;  if  you  refuse  me, 
you  will  break  my  heart." 

"Very  well,"  she  whispered,  "I  will  accept." 


BEL- AMI 


135 


When  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage,  he  seized 
her  hand,  and  kissing  it  passionately  said:  "I  love 
you,  I  love  you.  Let  me  tell  it  to  you.  I  will  not 
touch  you.     1  only  wish  to  repeat  that  I  love  you." 

She   stammered:     "After  what   you    promised    me 

—  it  is  too  bad  —  too  bad." 

He  seemed  to  make  a  great  effort,  then  he  con- 
tinued in  a  subdued  voice:  "See,  how  I  can  control 
myself — and  yet  —  let  me  only  tell  you  this  —  1  love 
you  —  yes,  let  me  go  home  with  you  and  kneel  be- 
fore you  five  minutes  to  utter  those  three  words  and 
gaze  upon  your  beloved  face." 

She  suffered  him  to  take  her  hand  and  replied  in 
broken  accents:  "No,  I  cannot  —  I  do  not  wish  to. 
Think  of  what  my  servants,  my  daughters,  would  say 

—  no  —  no  —  it  is  impossible." 

He  continued:  "I  cannot  live  without  seeing  you; 
whether  it  be  at  your  house  or  elsewhere,  I  must  see 
you  for  only  a  moment  each  day  that  I  may  touch 
your  hand,  breathe  the  air  stirred  by  your  gown,  con- 
template the  outlines  of  your  form,  and  see  your  beau- 
tiful eyes." 

She  listened  tremblingly  to  the  musical  language 
of  love,  and  made  answer:  "No,  it  is  impossible.  Be 
silent  1" 

He  spoke  very  low;  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  com- 
prehending that  it  was  necessary  to  win  that  simple 
woman  gradually,  to  persuade  her  to  appoint  a  meet- 
ing where  she  willed  at  first,  and  later  on  where  he 
willed. 

"Listen:  1  must  see  you!  I  will  wait  at  your 
door  like  a  beggar.  If  you  do  not  come  down,  I  will 
come  to  you,  but  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow." 


1^6  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  repeated:  "No,  do  not  come.  I  shall  not  re- 
ceive you.     Think  of  my  daughters!" 

"Then  tell  me  where  1  can  meet  you  —  in  the 
street  —  it  matters  not  where  —  at  any  hour  you  wish 
—  provided  that  I  can  see  you.  I  will  greet  you;  I 
will  say,  I  love  you;  and  then  go  away." 

She  hesitated,  almost  distracted.  As  the  coupe 
stopped  at  the  door,  she  whispered  hastily:  "I  will 
be  at  La  Trinite  to-morrow,  at  half  past  three." 

After  alighting,  she  said  to  her  coachman:  "Take 
M.  du  Roy  home." 

When  he  returned,  his  wife  asked:  "Where  have 
you  been  .^" 

He  replied  in  a  low  voice:  "I  have  been  to  send 
an  important  telegram." 

Mme.  de  Marelle  approached  him:  "You  must 
take  me  home,  Bel- Ami;  you  know  that  1  only  dine 
so  far  from  home  on  that  condition."  Turning  to 
Madeleine,  she  asked:   "You  are  not  jealous.^*" 

Mme.  du  Roy  replied  slowly:   "No,  not  at  all." 

The  guests  departed.  Clotilde,  enveloped  in  laces, 
whispered  to  Madeleine  at  the  door:  "Your  dinner 
was  perfect.  In  a  short  while  you  will  have  the  best 
political  salon  in  Paris.*' 

When  she  was  alone  with  Georges,  she  said: 
"Oh,  my  darling  Bel-Ami,  I  love  you  more  dearly 
every  day." 

The  cab  rolled  on,  and  Georges'  thoughts  were 
with    Mme.  Walter. 


CHAPTER  XII 


A  Meeting  and  the  Result 


HE  July  sun  shone  upon  the  Place 

de  la  Trinite,  which  was  almost 

deserted.     Du  Roy  drew  out  his 

watch.     It    was   only  three    o'clock: 

he  was  half  an  hour   too  early.     He 

laughed  as   he  thought   of  the  place 

of  meeting.     He   entered   the   sacred 

edifice  of  La  Trinite;  the  coolness  within 

was  refreshing.    Here  and  there    an   old 

woman  kneeled  at  prayer,  her  face  in  her 

hands.     Du  Roy  looked  at  his  watch  again. 

rit  was  not  yet  a  quarter  past  three.  He 
took  a  seat,  regretting  that  he  could  not 
smoke.  At  the  end  of  the  church  near  the 
choir,  he  could  hear  the  measured  tread  of  a  corpu- 
lent man  whom  he  had  noticed  when  he  entered. 
Suddenly  the  rustle  of  a  gown  made  him  start.  It 
was  she.  He  arose  and  advanced  quickly.  She  did 
not  offer  him  her  hand  and  whispered:  "I  have  only 
a  few  minutes.  You  must  kneel  near  me  that  no  one 
will  notice  us." 

bhe    proceeded   to   a   side   aisle    after    saluting   the 
Host  on  the  High  Altar,  took  a  footstool,  and  kneeled 

(■37) 


138  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

down.  Georges  took  one  beside  it  and  when  they 
were  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  he  said:  "Thank 
you,  thank  you,  I  adore  you.  1  should  hke  to  tell 
you  constantly  how  1  began  to  love  you,  how  I  was 
conquered  the  first  time  1  saw  you.  Will  you  per- 
mit me  some  day  to  unburden  my  heart,  to  explain 
all  to  you  ?" 

She  replied  between  her  fingers:  "I  am  mad  to 
let  you  speak  to  me  thus  —  mad  to  have  come  hither 

—  mad  to  do  as  I  have  done,  to  let  you  believe  that 
this  —  this  adventure  can  have  any  results.  Forget 
it,  and  never  speak  to  me  of  it  again."     She  paused. 

He  replied:     "1  expect   nothing  —  1   hope   nothing 

—  I  love  you  —  whatever  you  may  do,  1  will  repeat 
it  so  often,  with  so  much  force  and  ardor  that  you 
will  finally  understand  me,  and  reply:  'I  love  you 
too.'" 

He  felt  her  frame  tremble  as  she  involuntarily  re- 
peated: "1  love  you  too." 

He  was  overcome  by  astonishment. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  continued  incoherently, 
"Should  I  say  that  to  you?     1   feel  guilty,  despicable 

—  1 — who  have  two  daughters  —  but  I  cannot  —  lean- 
not —  1  never  thought  —  it  was  stronger  than  I  —  lis- 
ten—  listen  —  I  have  never  loved  —  any  other  —  but 
you  —  I  swear  it  —  I  have  loved   you  a   year  in  secret 

—  I  have  suffered  and  struggled  —  I  can  no  longer;  I 
love  you."  She  wept  and  her  bowed  form  was 
shaken  by  the  violence  of  her  emotion, 

Georges  murmured:  "Give  me  your  hand  that  1 
may  touch,  may  press  it." 

She  slowly  took  her  hand  from  her  face,  he  seized 
it  saying:     "1  should  like  to  drink  your  tears!" 


BEL- AMI  139 

Placing  the  hand  he  held  upon  his  heart  he  asked: 
"  Do  you  feel  it  beat  ?" 

In  a  few  moments  the  man  Georges  had  noticed 
before  passed  by  them.  When  Mme.  Walter  heard 
him  near  her,  she  snatched  her  fingers  from  Georges's 
clasp  and  covered  her  face  with  them.  After  the  man 
had  disappeared,  Du  Roy  asked,  hoping  for  another 
place  of  meeting  than  La  Trinite:  "Where  shall  I 
see  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply;  she  seemed  transformed  into  a 
statue  of  prayer.  He  continued:  "Shall  1  meet  you 
to-morrow  at  Park  Monceau.?" 

She  turned  a  livid  face  toward  him  and  said  un- 
steadily: "Leave  me  —  leave  me  now  —  go  —  go  away 
—  for  only  five  minutes  —  I  suffer  too  much  near  you. 
I  want  to  pray  —  go.  Let  me  pray  alone  —  five 
minutes  —  let  me  ask  God  —  to  pardon  me  —  to  save 
me — leave  me  —  five  minutes." 

She  looked  so  pitiful  that  he  rose  without  a  word 
and  asked  with  some  hesitation:  "Shall  I  return 
presently?" 

She  nodded  her  head  in  the  affirmative  and  he  left 
her.  She  tried  to  pray;  she  closed  her  eyes  in  order 
not  to  see  Georges.  She  could  not  pray;  she  could 
only  think  of  him.  She  would  rather  have  died  than 
have  fallen  thus;  she  had  never  been  weak.  She 
murmured  several  words  of  supplication;  she  knew 
that  all  was  over,  that  the  struggle  was  in  vain.  She 
did  not  however  wish  to  yield,  but  she  felt  her  weak- 
ness. Some  one  approached  with  a  rapid  step;  she 
turned  her  head.  It  was  a  priest.  She  rose,  ran  to- 
ward him,  and  clasping  her  hands,  she  cried:  "Save 
me,  save  me! " 


I40  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  stopped  in  surprise. 

"What  do  you  want,  Madame?" 

"I  want  you  to  save  me.  Have  pity  on  me.  If 
you  do  not  help  me,  1  am  lost!" 

He  gazed  at  her,  wondering  if  she  were  mad. 

"What  can  1  do  for  you.?"  The  priest  was  a 
young  man  somewhat  inclined  to  corpulence. 

"Receive  my  confession,"  said  she,  "and  counsel 
me,  sustain  me,  tell  me  what  to  do." 

He  replied:  "I  confess  every  Saturday  from  three 
to  six." 

Seizing  his  arm  she  repeated:  "No,  now,  at  once 
—  at  once!  It  is  necessary!  He  is  here  I  In  this 
church!     He  is  waiting  for  me." 

The  priest  asked:     "Who  is  waiting  for  you?" 

"A  man  —  who  will  be  my  ruin  if  you  do  not 
save  me.  I  can  no  longer  escape  him  —  I  am  too 
weak  —  too  weak." 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  sobbing:  "Oh,  father,  have 
pity  upon  me.  Save  me,  for  God's  sake,  save  me!" 
She  seized  his  gown  that  he  might  not  escape  her, 
while  he  uneasily  glanced  around  on  all  sides  to  see  if 
anyone  noticed  the  woman  at  his  feet.  Finally,  see- 
ing that  he  could  not  free  himself  from  her,  he  said: 
"Rise;  I  have  the  key  to  the  confessional  with  me." 
******* 

Du  Roy  having  walked  around  the  choir,  was 
sauntering  down  the  nave,  when  he  met  the  stout, 
bold  man  wandering  about,  and  he  wondered:  "What 
can  he  be  doing  here?" 

The  man  slackened  his  pace  and  looked  at 
Georges  with  the  evident  desire  to  speak  to  him. 
When  he  was  near  him,  he  bowed  and  said  politely: 


BEL- AMI 


141 


"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  disturbin<^  you;  but 
can  you  tell  me  when  this  church  was  built?" 

Du  Roy  replied:  "1  do  not  know;  I  think  it  is 
twenty  or  twenty-five  years,  it  is  the  first  time  I 
have  been  here.  I  have  never  seen  it  before."  Feel- 
ing interested  in  the  stranger,  the  journalist  contin- 
ued: "It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  examining  into  it 
very   carefully." 

The  man  replied:  "I  am  not  visiting  the  church; 
1  have  an  appointment."  He  paused  and  in  a  few 
moments  added:  "It  is  very  warm  outside." 

Du  Roy  looked  at  him  and  suddenly  thought  that 
he  resembled  Forestier.  "Are  you  from  the  prov- 
inces?" he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  am  from  Rennes.  And  did  you,  sir,  enter 
this  church  from  curiosity?" 

"No,  I  am  waiting  for  a  lady."  And  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips,  he  walked  away. 

He  did  not  find  Mme.  Walter  in  the  place  in 
which  he  had  left  her,  and  was  surprised.  She  had 
gone.  He  was  furious.  Then  he  thought  she  might 
be  looking  for  him,  and  he  walked  around  the 
church.  Not  finding  her,  he  returned  and  seated 
himself  on  the  chair  she  had  occupied,  hoping  that 
she  would  rejoin  him  there.  Soon  he  heard  the  sound 
of  a  voice.  He  saw  no  one;  whence  came  it?  He 
rose  to  examine  into  it,  and  saw  in  a  chapel  near  by, 
the  doors  of  the  confessionals.  He  drew  nearer  in 
order  to  see  the  woman  whose  voice  he  heard.  He 
recognized  Mme.  Walter;  she  was  confessing.  At 
first  he  felt  a  desire  to  seize  her  by  the  arm  and  drag 
her  away;  then  he  seated  himself  near  by  and  bided 
his  time.     He  waited  quite  a  while.     At  length  Mme. 


142 


WORKS   OF  GUY    DE  MAUPASSANT 


Walter  rose,  turned,  saw  him  and  came  toward  him. 
Her  face  was  cold  and  severe. 

"Sir,"  said  she,  "1  beseech  you  not  to  accompany 
me,  not  to  follow  me  and  not  to  come  to  my  house 
alone.  You  will  not  be  admitted.  Adieu!"  And  she 
walked  away  in  a  dignified  manner. 

He  permitted  her  to  go,  because  it  was  against 
his  principles  to  force  matters.  As  the  priest  in  his 
turn  issued  from  the  confessional,  he  advanced  to- 
ward him  and  said:  "If  you  did  not  wear  a  gown, 
I  would  give  you  a  sound  thrashing."  Then  he 
turned  upon  his  heel  and  left  the  church  whistling. 
In  the  doorway  he  met  the  stout  gentleman.  When 
Du  Roy  passed  him,  they  bowed. 

The  journalist  then  repaired  to  the  office  of  "La 
Vie  Fran^aise."  As  he  entered  he  saw  by  the  clerks' 
busy  air  that  something  of  importance  was  going  on, 
and  he  hastened  to  the  manager's  room.  The  latter 
exclaimed  joyfully  as  Du  Roy  entered:  "What  luck! 
here  is  Bel-Ami." 

He  stopped  in  confusion  and  apologized:  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  1  am  very  much  bothered  by  circum- 
stances. And  then  1  hear  my  wife  and  daughter  call 
you  Bel-Ami  from  morning  until  night,  and  1  have 
acquired  the  habit  myself.     Are  you  displeased?" 

Georges  laughed.     "Not  at  all." 

M.  Walter  continued:  "Very  well,  then  I  will 
call  you  Bel-Ami  as  everyone  else  does.  Great 
changes  have  taken  place.  The  ministry  has  been 
overthrown.  Marrot  is  to  form  a  new  cabinet.  He 
has  chosen  General  Boutin  d'Acre  as  minister  of 
war,  and  our  friend  Laroche-Malhieu  as  minister  of 
foreign  affairs.     We  shall  be  very  busy.     I  must  write 


BEL-AMI 


143 


a  leading  article,  a  simple  declaration  of  principles; 
then  1  must  have  something  interesting  on  the 
Morocco  question  —  you  must  attend  to  that." 

Du  Roy  reflected  a  moment  and  then  replied:  "I 
have  it.  1  will  give  you  an  article  on  the  political 
situation  of  our  African  colony,"  and  he  proceeded  to 
prepare  M.  Walter  an  outline  of  his  work,  which  was 
nothing  but  a  modification  of  his  first  article  on 
"Souvenirs  of  a  Soldier  in  Africa." 

The  manager  having  read  the  article  said:  "It  is 
perfect;  you  are  a  treasure.     Many  thanks." 

Du  Roy  returned  home  to  dinner  delighted  with 
his  day,  notwithstanding  his  failure  at  La  Trinite. 
His  wife  was  awaiting  him  anxiously.  She  exclaimed 
on  seeing   him: 

"You  know  that  Laroche  is  minister  of  foreign 
affairs." 

"Yes,  I  have  just  written  an  article  on  that  sub- 
ject." 

"How?" 

"Do  you  remember  the  first  article  we  wrote  on 
'Souvenirs  of  a  Soldier  in  Africa'?  Well,  I  revised 
and  corrected  it  for  the  occasion." 

She   smiled.     "Ah,  yes,  that   will   do   very  well." 

At  that  moment  the  servant  entered  with  a  dis- 
patch containing  these  words  without  any  signature: 

"I  was  beside  myself.  Pardon  me  and  come  to- 
morrow at  four  o'clock  to  Park   Monceau." 

He  understood  the  message,  and  with  a  joyful 
heart,  slipped  the  telegram  into  his  pocket.  During 
dinner  he  repeated  the  words  to  himself;  as  he  in- 
terpreted them,  they  meant,  "1  yield  —  I  am  yours 
where  and  when  you  will."     He  laughed. 


144 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


Madeleine  asked:    "What  is  it?" 
"Nothing  much.     I  was  thinking  of  a  comical  old 
priest  1  met  a  short  while  since." 


Du  Roy  arrived  at  the  appointed  hour  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  benches  were  ail  occupied  by  people 
trying  to  escape  from  the  heat  and  by  nurses  with 
their  charges. 

He  found  Mme.  Walter  in  a  little  antique  ruin;  she 
seemed  unhappy  and  anxious.  When  he  had  greeted 
her,  she  said:  "How  many  people  there  are  in  the 
garden!" 

He  took  advantage  of  the  occasion:  "Yes,  that  is 
true;  shall  we  go  somewhere  else?" 

"Where?" 

"It  matters  not  where;  for  a  drive,  for  instance. 
You  can  lower  the  shade  on  your  side  and  you  will 
be  well  concealed." 

"  Yes,  1  should  like  that  better;  1  shall  die  of  fear 
here." 

"  Very  well,  meet  me  in  five  minutes  at  the  gate 
which  opens  on  the  boulevard.     1  will  fetch  a  cab." 

When  they  were  seated  in  the  cab,  she  asked: 
"Where  did  you  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  to?" 

Georges  replied:  "Do  not  worry;  he  knows." 

He  had  given  the  man  his  address  on  the  Rue  de 
Constantinople. 

Mme.  Walter  said  to  Du  Roy:  "You  cannot  im- 
agine how  1  suffer  on  your  account  —  how  I  am  tor- 
mented, tortured.  Yesterday  1  was  harsh,  but  I 
wanted  to  escape  you  at  any  price.  I  was  afraid  to 
remain  alone  with  you.     Have  you  forgiven  me?" 


BEL-AMI 


J45 


He  pressed  her  hand.  "Yes,  yes,  why  should  I 
not  forgive  you,  loving  you  as  1  do?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  beseeching  air:  "Listen: 
You  must  promise  to  respect  me,  otherwise  I  could 
never  see  you  again." 

At  first  he  did  not  reply;  a  smile  lurked  beneath 
his  mustache;  then  he  murmured:    "  I  am  your  slave." 

She  told  him  how  she  had  discovered  that  she 
loved  him,  on  learning  that  he  was  to  marry  Mad- 
eleine Forestier.  Suddenly  she  ceased  speaking.  The 
carriage  stopped.     Du  Roy  opened  the   door. 

"Where  are  we.?"  she  asked. 

He  replied:  "Alight  and  enter  the  house.  We 
shall  be  undisturbed  there." 

"Where  are  we?"  she  repeated. 

"At  my  rooms;  they  are  my  bachelor  apartments 
which  1  have  rented  for  a  few  days  that  we  might 
have  a  corner  in  which  to  meet." 

She  clung  to  the  cab,  startled  at  the  thought  of  a 
Ute-d-tete,  and  stammered:  "No,  no,  1  do  not  want  to." 

He  said  firmly:  "I  swear  to  respect  you.  Come, 
you  see  that  people  are  looking  at  us,  that  a  crowd 
is  gathering  around  us.  Make  haste!"  And  he  re- 
peated, "I  swear  to  respect  you." 

She  was  terror-stricken  and  rushed  into  the  house. 
She  was  about  to  ascend  the  stairs.  He  seized  her 
arm:     "It  is  here,  on  the  ground  floor." 

When  he  had  closed  the  door,  he  showered  kisses 
upon  her  neck,  her  eyes,  her  lips;  in  spite  of  herself, 
she  submitted  to  his  caresses  and  even  returned  them, 
hiding  her  face  and  murmuring  in  broken  accents: 
"1  swear  that  I  have  never  had  a  lover";  while  he 
thought:  "That  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me." 

7    G.  de  iNL— lo 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


Madame  De  Marelle 

UTUMN  had  come.  The  Du  Roys 
had  spent  the  entire  summer  in 
Paris,  leading  a  vigorous  cam- 
paign in  "La  Vie  Fran^aise,"  in  favor 
of  the  new  cabinet.  Although  it  was 
only  the  early  part  of  October,  the 
chamber  was  about  to  resume  its  ses- 
sions, for  affairs  in  Morocco  were  be- 
coming menacing.  The  celebrated  speech 
riO^  made  by  Count  de  Lambert  Sarrazin  had 
V^^  furnished  Du  Roy  with  material  for  ten  arti- 
C^;^  '  cles  on  the  Algerian  colony.  "La  Vie  Fran^aise" 
f^-  had  gained  considerable  prestige  by  its  connection 
^  with  the  power;  it  was  the  first  to  give  political 
news,  and  every  newspaper  in  Paris  and  the  provinces 
sought  information  from  it.  It  was  quoted,  feared, 
and  began  to  be  respected:  it  was  no  longer  the  or- 
gan of  a  group  of  political  intriguers,  but  the  avowed 
mouthpiece  of  the  cabinet.  Laroche-Mathieu  was 
the  soul  of  the  journal  and  Du  Roy  his  speaking- 
trumpet.  M.  Walter  retired  discreetly  into  the  back- 
ground. Madeleine's  salon  became  an  influential 
center  in  which  several  members  of  the  cabinet  met 
(146) 


BEL-AMI 


«47 


every  week.  The  president  of  the  council  had  even 
dined  there  twice;  the  minister  of  foreign  affairs  was 
quite  at  home  at  the  Du  Roys;  he  came  at  any  hour, 
bringing  dispatches  or  information,  which  he  dictated 
either  to  the  husband  or  wife  as  if  they  were  his  sec- 
retaries. After  the  minister  had  departed,  when  Du 
Roy  was  alone  with  Madeleine,  he  uttered  threats 
and  insinuations  against  the  "parvenu,"  as  he  called 
him.  His  wife  simply  shrugged  her  shoulders  scorn- 
fully, repeating:  "  Become  a  minister  and  you  can  do 
the  same;  until  then,   be  silent." 

His  reply  was:  "No  one  knows  of  what  I  am 
capable;  perhaps  they  will  find  out  some  day." 

She  answered  philosophically:  "He  who  lives 
will   see." 

The  morning  of  the  reopening  of  the  Chamber,  Du 
Roy  lunched  with  Laroche-Mathieu  in  order  to  re- 
ceive instructions  from  him,  before  the  session,  for  a 
political  article  the  following  day  in  "La  Vie  Fran- 
^aise,"  which  was  to  be  a  sort  of  official  declaration 
of  the  plans  of  the  cabinet.  After  listening  to  Laroche- 
Mathieu's  eloquence  for  some  time  with  jealousy  in  his 
heart,  Du  Roy  sauntered  slowly  toward  the  office  to 
commence  his  work,  for  he  had  nothing  to  do  until 
four  o'clock,  at  which  hour  he  was  to  meet  Mme.  de 
Marelle  at  Rue  de  Constantinople.  They  met  there 
regularly  twice  a  week,  Mondays  and  Wednesdays. 

On  entering  the  office,  he  was  handed  a  sealed 
dispatch;   it   was   from  Mme.  Walter,  and   read  thus: 

"It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  1  should  see  you  to-day.  It  is 
important  Expect  me  at  two  o'clock  at  Rue  de  Constantinople.  I 
ean  render  you  a  great  service;   your  friend  until  death, 

"  VlRolNlE." 


148  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  exclaimed:  "Heavens!  what  a  bore!"  and  left 
the  office  at  once,  too  much  annoyed  to  work. 

For  six  weeks  he  had  ineffectually  tried  to  break 
with  Mme.  Walter.  At  three  successive  meetings  she 
had  been  a  prey  to  remorse,  and  had  overwhelmed 
her  lover  with  reproaches.  Angered  by  those  scenes 
and  already  weary  of  the  dramatic  woman,  he  had 
simply  avoided  her,  hoping  that  the  affair  would  end 
in  that  way. 

But  she  persecuted  him  with  her  affection,  sum- 
moned him  at  all  times  by  telegrams  to  meet  her  at 
street  corners,  in  shops,  or  public  gardens.  She  was 
very  different  from  what  he  had  fancied  she  would 
be,  trying  to  attract  him  by  actions  ridiculous  in  one 
of  her  age.  It  disgusted  him  to  hear  her  call  him: 
"My  rat  —  my  dog  —  my  treasure  —  my  jewel  —  my 
blue-bird,"  —  and  to  see  her  assume  a  kind  of  childish 
modesty  when  he  approached.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
being  the  mother  of  a  family,  a  woman  of  the  world, 
she  should  have  been  more  sedate,  and  have  yielded 
with  tears  if  she  chose,  but  with  the  tears  of  a  Dido 
and  not  of  a  Juliette.  He  never  heard  her  call  him 
"Little  one,"  or  "Baby,"  without  wishing  to  reply 
"Old  woman,"  to  take  his  hat  with  an  oath  and 
leave  the  room. 

At  first  they  had  often  met  at  Rue  de  Constanti- 
nople, but  Du  Roy,  who  feared  an  encounter  with 
Mme.  de  Marelle,  invented  a  thousand  and  one  pre- 
texts in  order  to  avoid  that  rendezvous.  He  was 
therefore  obliged  to  either  lunch  or  dine  at  her  house 
daily,  when  she  would  clasp  his  hand  under  cover  of 
the  table  or  offer  him  her  lips  behind  the  door^. 
Above  all,  Georges  enjoyed  being  thrown  so  much  in 


BEL-AMI 


149 


contact  with  Suzanne;  she  made  sport  of  everything 
and  everybody  with  cutting  appropriateness.  At  length, 
however,  he  began  to  feel  an  unconquerable  repug- 
nance to  the  love  lavished  upon  him  by  the  mother; 
he  could  no  longer  see  her,  hear  her,  nor  think  of 
her  without  anger.  He  ceased  calling  upon  her,  re- 
plying to  her  letters,  and  yielding  to  her  appeals.  She 
finally  divined  that  he  no  longer  loved  her,  and  the  dis- 
covery caused  her  unutterable  anguish;  but  she  watched 
him,  followed  him  in  a  cab  with  drawn  blinds  to  the 
office,  to  his  house,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him  pass 
by.  He  would  have  liked  to  strangle  her,  but  he 
controlled  himself  on  account  of  his  position  on  "La 
Vie  Fran9aise,"  and  he  endeavored  by  means  of  cold- 
ness, and  even  at  times  harsh  words,  to  make  her 
comprehend  that  all  was  at  an  end  between  them. 

Then,  too,  she  persisted  in  devising  ruses  for 
summoning  him  to  Rue  de  Constantinople,  and  he 
was  in  constant  fear  that  the  two  women  would  some 
day  meet  face  to  face  at  the  door. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  affection  for  Mme.  de 
Marelle  had  increased  during  the  summer.  They  were 
both  Bohemians  by  nature;  they  took  excursions  to- 
gether to  Argenteuil,  Bougival,  Maisons,  and  Poissy, 
and  when  he  was  forced  to  return  and  dine  at  Mme. 
Walter's,  he  detested  his  mature  mistress  more 
thoroughly,  as  he  recalled  the  youthful  one  he  had 
just  left.  He  was  congratulating  himself  upon  having 
freed  himself  almost  entirely  from  the  former's  clutches, 
when  he  received  the  telegram  above  mentioned. 

He  re-read  it  as  he  walked  along.  He  thought: 
"What  does  that  old  owl  want  with  me?  I  am 
certain  she   has   nothing  to  tell  me   except    that    she 


150  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

adores  me.  However,  I  will  see,  perhaps  there  is 
some  truth  in  it.  Clotilde  is  coming  at  four,  I  must 
get  rid  of  the  other  one  at  three  or  soon  after,  pro- 
vided they  do  not  meet.     What  jades  women  are!" 

As  he  uttered  those  words  he  was  reminded  of 
his  wife,  who  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  tor- 
ment him;  she  lived  by  his  side  and  seemed  to  love 
him  very  much  at  the  proper  time,  for  she  never 
permitted  anything  to  interfere  with  her  ordinary  oc- 
cupations of  life.  He  strolled  toward  the  appointed 
place  of  meeting,  mentally  cursing  Mme.  Walter. 

"Ah,  I  will  receive  her  in  such  a  manner  that  she 
will  not  tell  me  anything.  First  of  all,  1  will  give 
her  to  understand  that  I  shall  never  cross  her  threshold 
again." 

He  entered  to  await  her.  She  soon  arrived  and, 
seeing  him,  exclaimed:  "Ah,  you  received  my  dis- 
patch !     How  fortunate !  " 

"Yes,  I  received  it  at  the  office  just  as  I  was  set- 
ting out  for  the  Chamber.  What  do  you  want.?"  he 
asked  ungraciously. 

She  had  raised  her  veil  in  order  to  kiss  him,  and 
approached  him  timidly  and  humbly  with  the  air  of  a 
beaten  dog. 

"How  unkind  you  are  to  me;  how  harshly  you 
speak!  What  have  1  done  to  you?  You  do  not 
know  what  1  have  suffered  for  you!" 

He  muttered:  "Are  you  going  to  begin  that 
again?" 

She  stood  near  him  awaiting  a  smile,  a  word  of 
encouragement,  to  cast  herself  into  his  arms,  and 
whispered:  "You  need  not  have  won  me  to  treat 
me  thus;  you  might  have  left  me  virtuous  and  happy. 


BEL- AMI 


151 


Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  in  the  church 
and  how  you  forced  me  to  enter  this  house?  And 
now  this  is  the  way  you  speak  to  me,  receive  me! 
My  God,  my  God,  how  you  maltreat  mel" 

He  stamped  his  foot  and  said  violently:  "Enough, 
be  silent!  I  can  never  see  you  a  moment  without 
hearing  that  refrain.  You  were  mature  when  you 
gave  yourself  to  me.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you;  I 
am  infinitely  grateful,  but  I  need  not  be  tied  to  your 
apron-strings  until  1  die!  You  have  a  husband  and  I 
a  wife.  Neither  of  us  is  free;  it  was  all  a  caprice, 
and  now  it  is  at  an  end!" 

She  said:  "How  brutal  you  are,  how  coarse  and 
villainous!  No,  I  was  no  longer  a  young  girl,  but  I 
had  never  loved,  never  wavered  in  my  dignity." 

He  interrupted  her:  "I  know  it,  you  have  told 
me  that  twenty  times;  but  you  have  had  two  chil- 
dren." 

She  drew  back  as  if  she  had  been  struck:  "Oh, 
Georges!"  And  pressing  her  hands  to  her  heart,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

When  she  began  to  weep,  he  took  his  hat:  "Ah, 
you  are  crying  again!  Good  evening!  Is  it  for  this 
that  you  sent  for  me?" 

She  took  a  step  forward  in  order  to  bar  the  way, 
and  drawing  a  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  she 
wiped  her  eyes.  Her  voice  grew  steadier:  "No,  I 
came  to  —  to  give  you  —  political  news  —  to  give  you 
the  means  of  earning  fifty  thousand  francs  —  or  even 
more  if  you  wish  to." 

Suddenly  softened  he  asked:     "How?" 

"By  chance  last  evening  I  heard  a  conversation 
between   my   husband   and  Laroche.     Walter  advised 


1^2 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


the  minister   not  to   let  you   into   the    secret   for  you 
would  expose  it." 

Du  Roy  placed  his   hat  upon   a  chair   and  listened 
attentively. 

"They  are  going  to  take  possession  of  Morocco!" 

"Why,  I  lunched  with  Laroche  this  morning,  and 
he  told  me  the  cabinet's  plans!" 

"No,  my  dear,  they  have  deceived  you,  because 
they  feared  their  secret  would   be  made  known," 

"Sit  down,"  said  Georges. 

He  sank  into  an  armchair,  while  she  drew  up 
a  stool  and  took  her  seat  at  his  feet.     She  continued: 

"As  I  think  of  you  continually,  1  pay  attention  to 
what  is  talked  of  around  me,"  and  she  proceeded  to 
tell  him  what  she  had  heard  relative  to  the  expedi- 
tion to  Tangiers  which  had  been  decided  upon  the 
day  that  Laroche  assumed  his  office;  she  told  him 
how  they  had  little  by  little  bought  up,  through 
agents  who  aroused  no  suspicions,  the  Moroccan  loan, 
which  had  fallen  to  sixty-four  or  sixty-five  francs; 
how  when  the  expedition  was  entered  upon  the 
French  government  would  guarantee  the  debt,  and 
their  friends  would  make  fifty  or  sixty  millions. 

He  cried:     "Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

She  replied:     "Yes,   1  am  sure." 

He  continued:  "That  is  indeed  fine!  As  for  that 
rascal  of  a  Laroche,  let  him  beware!  I  will  get  his 
ministerial  carcass  between  my  fingers  yet!" 

Then,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  muttered: 
"One  might  profit  by  that!" 

"You  too  can  buy  some  stock,"  said  she;  "it  is 
only  seventy-two  francs." 

He  replied:  "But  1  have  no  ready  money." 


BEL- AM  I  ic. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  —  eyes  full  of  suppli- 
cation. 

"1  have  thought  of  that,  my  darling,  and  if  you 
love  me  a  little,  you  will  let  me  lend  it  to  you." 

He  replied  abruptly,  almost  harshly;  "No,  indeed." 

She  whispered  imploringly:  "Listen,  there  is  some- 
thing you  can  do  without  borrowing  money.  I  in- 
tended buying  ten  thousand  francs'  worth  of  the 
stock;  instead,  I  will  take  twenty  thousand  and  you 
can  have  half.  There  will  be  nothing  to  pay  at  once. 
If  It  succeeds,  we  will  make  seventy  thousand  francs; 
if  not,  you  will  owe  me  ten  thousand  which  you  can 
repay  at  your  pleasure." 

He  said  again:  "No,  1  do  not  like  those  combina- 
tions." 

She  tried  to  persuade  him  by  telling  him  that  she 
advanced  nothing — that  the  payments  were  made  by 
Walter's  bank.  She  pointed  out  to  him  that  he  had 
led  the  political  campaign  in  "  La  Vie  Fran^aise,"  and 
that  he  would  be  very  simple  not  to  profit  by  the 
results  he  had  helped  to  bring  about.  As  he  still 
hesitated,  she  added:  "It  is  in  reality  Walter  who 
will  advance  the  money,  and  you  have  done  enough 
for  him  to  offset  that  sum." 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  "I  will  do  it.  If  we  lose 
I  will  pay  you  back  ten  thousand  francs." 

She  was  so  delighted  that  she  rose,  took  his  head 
between  her  hands,  and  kissed  him.  At  first  he  did 
not  repulse  her,  but  when  she  grew  more  lavish  with 
her  caresses,  he  said: 

"Come,  that  will  do," 

She  gazed  at  him  sadly.  "Oh,  Georges,  I  can  no 
longer  even  embrace  you." 


154 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"No,  not  to-day.     I  have  a  headache." 

She  reseated  herself  with  docility  at  his  feet  and 
asked: 

"Will  you  dine  with  us  to-morrow?  It  would 
give  me  such  pleasure." 

He  hesitated  at  first,  but  dared  not  refuse. 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Thank  you,  dearest."  She  rubbed  her  cheek 
against  the  young  man's  vest;  as  she  did  so,  one  of 
her  long  black  hairs  caught  on  a  button;  she  twisted 
it  tightly  around,  then  she  twisted  another  around 
another  button  and  so  on.  When  he  rose,  he  would 
tear  them  out  of  her  head,  and  would  carry  away 
with  him  unwittingly  a  lock  of  her  hair.  It  would 
be  an  invisible  bond  between  them.  Involuntarily  he 
would  think,  would  dream  of  her;  he  would  love 
her  a  little  more  the  next  day. 

Suddenly  he  said:  "I  must  leave  you,  for  I  am 
expected  at  the  Chamber  for  the  close  of  the  session. 
I  cannot  be  absent  to-day." 

She  sighed:  "Already!"  Then  adding  resignedly: 
"Go,  my  darling,  but  you  will  come  to  dinner  to- 
morrow"; she  rose  abruptly.  For  a  moment  she  felt 
a  sharp,  stinging  pain  as  if  needles  had  been  stuck 
into  her  head,  bat  she  was  glad  to  have  suffered  for 
him. 

"Adieu,"  said  she. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  eyes 
coldly;  then  she  offered  him  her  lips  which  he  brushed 
lightly  as  he  said:  "Come,  come,  let  us  hurry;  it  is 
after  three  o'clock." 

She  passed  out  before  him  saying:  "To-morrow 
at  seven";  he  repeated  her  words  and  they  separated. 


BEL- AM  I 


155 


Du  Roy  returned  at  four  o'clock  to  await  his  mis- 
tress. She  was  somewhat  late  because  her  husband 
had  come  home  tor  a  week.     She  asked: 

"  Can  you  come  to  dinner  to-morrow  ?  He  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"No;  1  dine  at  the  Walters.  We  have  a  great 
many  political  and  financial  matters  to  talk  over." 

She  took  off  her  hat.  He  pointed  to  a  bag  on  the 
mantelpiece:    "1  bought  you  some  sweetmeats." 

She  clapped  her  hands.  "What  a  darling  you 
are!"  She  took  them,  tasted  one,  and  said:  "They 
are  delicious.  I  shall  not  leave  one.  Come,  sit  down 
in  the  armchair,  1  will  sit  at  your  feet  and  eat  my 
bonbons." 

He  smiled  as  he  saw  her  take  the  seat  a  short 
while  since  occupied  by  Mme.  Walter.  She  too, 
called  him  "darling,  little  one,  dearest,"  and  the 
words  seemed  to  him  sweet  and  caressing  from  her 
lips,  while  from  Mme.  Walter's  they  irritated  and 
nauseated  him. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  the  seventy  thousand 
francs  he  was  going  to  make,  and  bluntly  interrupting 
Mme.  de  Marelle's  chatter,  he  said: 

"Listen,  my  darling;  1  am  going  to  intrust  you 
with  a  message  to  your  husband.  Tell  him  from  me 
to  buy  to-morrow  ten  thousand  francs'  worth  of  Mo- 
roccan stock  which  is  at  seventy-two,  and  I  predict 
that  before  three  months  are  passed  he  will  have 
made  eighty  thousand  francs.  Tell  him  to  maintain 
absolute  silence.  Tell  him  that  the  expedition  to 
Tangiers  is  decided  upon,  and  that  the  French  gov- 
ernment will  guarantee  the  Moroccan  debt,  it  is  a 
state  secret  1  am  confiding  to  you,  remember!" 


156  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  listened  to  him  gravely  and  murmured: 

"Thank  you.  I  will  tell  my  husband  this  evening. 
You  may  rely  upon  him;  he  will  not  speak  of  it;  he 
can  be  depended  upon;  there  is  no  danger." 

She  had  eaten  all  of  her  bonbons  and  began  to 
toy  with  the  buttons  on  his  vest.  Suddenly  she  drew 
a  long  hair  out  of  the  buttonhole  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  See!  Here  is  one  of  Madeleine's  hairs;  you  are 
a  faithful  husband!"  Then  growing  serious,  she  ex- 
amined the  scarcely  perceptible  thread  more  closely 
and  said:    "It  is  not  Madeleine's,  it  is  dark." 

He  smiled.  "It  probably  belongs  to  the  house- 
maid." 

But  she  glanced  at  the  vest  with  the  care  of  a  police- 
inspector  and  found  a  second  hair  twisted  around  a 
second  button;  then  she  saw  a  third;  and  turning  pale 
and  trembling  somewhat,  she  exclaimed:  "Oh,  some 
woman  has  left  hairs  around  all  your  buttons." 

In  surprise,  he  stammered:  "Why  you  —  you  are 
mad." 

She  continued  to  unwind  the  hairs  and  cast  them 
upon  the  floor.  With  her  woman's  instinct  she  had 
divined  their  meaning  and  gasped  in  her  anger,  ready 
to  cry: 

"She  loves  you  and  she  wished  you  to  carry  away 
with  you  something  of  hers.  Oh,  you  are  a  traitor." 
She  uttered  a  shrill,  nervous  cry:  "Oh,  it  is  an  old 
woman's  hair  —  here  is  a  white  one — you  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  an  old  woman  now.  Then  you  do  not 
need  me  —  keep  the  other   one."     She  rose. 

He  attempted  to  detain  her  and  stammered:    "No 

—  Go  —  you  are  absurd — I  do  not  know  whose  it  is 

—  listen  —  stay  —  see  —  stay  —  " 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I  i^-j 

But  she  repeated:  "Keep  your  old  woman  — 
keep  her  —  have  a  chain  made  of  her  hair  —  of  her 
gray  hair  —  there  is  enough  for  that  —  " 

Hastily  she  donned  her  hat  and  veil,  and  when  he 
attempted  to  touch  her  she  struck  him  in  the  face, 
and  made  her  escape  while  he  was  stunned  by  the 
blow.  When  he  found  that  he  was  alone,  he  cursed 
Mme.  Walter,  bathed  his  face,  and  went  out  vowing 
vengeance.  That  time  he  would  not  pardon.  No, 
indeed. 

He  strolled  to  the  boulevard  and  stopped  at  a 
jeweler's  to  look  at  a  chronometer  he  had  wanted  for 
some  time  and  which  would  cost  eighteen  hundred 
francs.  He  thought  with  joy:  "If  I  make  my 
seventy  thousand  francs,  I  can  pay  for  it "  —  and  he  began 
to  dream  of  all  the  things  he  would  do  when  he  got 
the  money.  First  of  all  he  would  become  a  deputy; 
then  he  would  buy  the  chronometer;  then  he  would 
speculate  on  'Change,  and  then,  and  then  —  he  did 
not  enter  the  office,  preferring  to  confer  with  Mad- 
eleine before  seeing  Walter  again  and  writing  his 
article;  he  turned  toward  home.  He  reached  Rue 
Drouot  when  he  paused;  he  had  forgotten  to  inquire 
for  Count  de  Vaudrec,  who  lived  on  Chaussee  d'- 
Antin.  He  retraced  his  steps  with  a  light  heart, 
thinking  of  a  thousand  things  —  of  the  fortune  he 
would  make,  of  that  rascal  of  a  Laroche,  and  of  old 
Walter. 

He  was  not  at  all  uneasy  as  to  Clotilde's  anger, 
knowing  that  she  would  soon  forgive  him. 

When  he  asked  the  janitor  of  the  house  in  which 
Count  de  Vaudrec  lived:  "How  is  M.  de  Vaudrec? 
I  have  heard  that  he  has  been  ailing  of  late,  "the  man 


158  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

replied:  "The  Count  is  very  ill,  sir;  they  think  he 
will  not  live  through  the  night;  the  gout  has  reached 
his  heart." 

Du  Roy  v^as  so  startled  he  did  not  know  what  to 
do!  Vaudrec  dying!  He  stammered:  "Thanks  —  I 
will  call  again"  —  unconscious  of  what  he  was  say- 
ing. He  jumped  into  a  cab  and  drove  home.  His 
wife  had  returned.  He  entered  her  room  out  of 
breath:     "Did  you  know.?    Vaudrec  is  dying!" 

She  was  reading  a  letter  and  turning  to  him  asked: 
"What  did  you  say.?" 

"I  said  that  Vaudrec  is  dying  of  an  attack  of 
gout." 

Then  he  added:     "What  shall  you  do?" 

She  rose;  her  face  was  livid;  she  burst  into  tears 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  remained 
standing,  shaken  by  sobs,  torn  by  anguish.  Suddenly 
she  conquered  her  grief  and  wiping  her  eyes,  said: 
"1  am  going  to  him  —  do  not  worry  about  me  —  I  do 
not  know  what  time  1  shall  return  —  do  not  expect 
me." 

He  replied:     "Very  well.     Go." 

They  shook  hands  and  she  left  in  such  haste  that 
she  forgot  her  gloves.  Georges,  after  dining  alone, 
began  to  write  his  article.  He  wrote  it  according  to 
the  minister's  instructions,  hinting  to  the  readers 
that  the  expedition  to  Morocco  would  not  take  place. 
He  took  it,  when  completed,  to  the  office,  conversed 
several  moments  with  M,  Walter,  and  set  out  again, 
smoking,  with  a  light  heart,  he  knew  not  why. 

His  wife  had  not  returned.  He  retired  and  fell 
asleep.  Toward  midnight  Madeleine  came  home. 
Georges  sat  up  in  bed  and  asked:     "Well?" 


BEL-AM 


159 


He  had  never  seen  her  so  pale  and  agitated.  She 
whispered:     "He  is  dead!" 

"Ah  —  and  —  he  told  you  nothing?" 

"Nothing.     He  was  unconscious  when  I  arrived." 

Questions  which  he  dared  not  ask  arose  to 
Georges'  lips. 

"Lie  down  and  rest,"  said  he. 

She  disrobed  hastily  and  slipped  into  bed. 

He  continued:  "Had  he  any  relatives  at  his  death- 
bed?" 

"Only  a  nephew." 

"Ah!     Did  he  often  see  that  nephew?" 

"They  had  not  met  for  ten  years." 

"Had  he  other  relatives?" 

"No,  I  believe  not." 

"Will  that  nephew  be  his  heir?" 

"  1  do  not  know." 

"Was  Vaudrec  very  rich?" 

"  Yes,  very." 

"Do  you  know  what  he  was  worth?" 

"No,  not  exactly  —  one  or  two  millions  perhaps." 

He  said  no  more.  She  extinguished  the  light. 
He  could  not  sleep.  He  looked  upon  Mme.  Walter's 
promised  seventy  thousand  francs  as  very  insignificant. 
Suddenly  he  thought  he  heard  Madeleine  crying.  In 
order  to  insure  himself  he  asked:   "Are  you  asleep?" 

"No."     Her  voice  was  tearful  and  unsteady. 

He  continued:  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  your 
minister  has  deceived  us." 

"How?" 

He  gave  her  a  detailed  account  of  the  combina- 
tion prepared  by  Laroche  and  Walter.  When  he 
concluded  she  asked:     "How  did   you   know  that?' 


l6o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  replied:  "Pardon  me  if  I  do  not  tell  you! 
You  have  your  means  of  obtaining  information  into 
which  I  do  not  inquire;  I  have  mine  which  I  desire 
to  keep.  1  can  vouch  at  any  rate  for  the  truth  of 
my  statements." 

She  muttered:  "It  may  be  possible.  I  sus- 
pected that  they  were  doing  something  without  our 
knowledge." 

As  she  spoke  Georges  drew  near  her;  she  paid 
no  heed  to  his  proximity,  however,  and  turning  to- 
ward the  wall,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


The  Will 


HE  church  was  draped  in  black,  and 
over  the  door    a    large    escutcheon 
surmounted  by  a  coronet  announced 
to  the  passers-by  that  a  nobleman  was 
being  buried.     The  ceremony  was  just 
over;  those    present  went  out  slowly, 
passing   by   the   coffin,    and   by   Count 
de  Vaudrec's  nephew,  who  shook  hands 
and  returned  salutations. 
jL  8  When  Georges  du  Roy  and  his  wife  left 

v^-^r^      the  church,  they  walked    along  side  by  side 
on   their  way    home.      They    did    not   speak; 
they  were  both  preoccupied.    At  length  Georges 
said,  as  if  talking  to  himself:     "Truly  it  is  very 
astonishing!" 

Madeleine  asked:  "What,  my  friend?" 
"That  Vaudrec  left  us  nothing." 
She  blushed  and  said:  "Why  should  he  leave  us 
anything?  Had  he  any  reason  for  doing  so?"  Then 
after  several  moments  of  silence,  she  continued: 
"Perhaps  there  is  a  will  at  a  lawyer's;  we  should 
not  know  of  it." 

7    G,<leM.-ii  (  i6l  ) 


l6a  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  replied:  "That  is  possible,  for  he  was  our  best 
friend.  He  dined  with  us  twice  a  week;  he  came  at 
any  time;  he  was  at  home  with  us.  He  loved  you 
as  a  father;  he  had  no  family,  no  children,  no  broth- 
ers nor  sisters,  only  a  nephew.  Yes,  there  should  be 
a  will.  I  would  not  care  for  much — a  remembrance 
to  prove  that  he  thought  of  us  —  that  he  recognized 
the  affection  we  felt  for  him.  We  should  certainly 
have  a  mark  of  friendship." 

She  said  with  a  pensive  and  indifferent  air:  "It  is 
possible  that  there  is  a  will." 

When  they  entered  the  house,  the  footman  handed 
Madeleine  a  letter.  She  opened  it  and  offered  it  to 
her  husband. 

"Office  of  M.  Lamaneur, 
"Notary. 

"17  Rue  des  Vosges. 
"Madame:     Kindly    call    at    my    office    at    a    quarter    past    two 
o'clock  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  or  Thursday,  on  business  which  concerns 
you.  Yours  respectfully, 

"  Lamaneur." 

Georges,  in  his  turn,  colored. 

"That  is  as  it  should  be.  It  is  strange,  however, 
that  he  should  write  to  you  and  not  to  me,  for  I  am 
the  head  of  the  family  legally." 

"Shall  we  go  at  once?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  1  should  like  to." 

After  luncheon  they  set  out  for  M.  Lamaneur's 
office. 

The  notary  was  a  short,  round  man  —  round  all 
over.  His  head  looked  like  a  ball  fastened  to  another 
ball,  which  was  supported  by  legs  so  short  that  they 
too  almost  resembled  bails. 


EL-AMI 


165 


He  bowed,  as  Du  Roy  and  his  wife  were  shown 
*nto  his  office,  pointed  to  seats,  and  said,  turning  to 
Madeleine:  "Madame,  I  sent  for  you  in  order  to  in- 
form you  of  Count  de  Vaudrec's  will,  which  will  be 
of  interest  to  you." 

Georges  could  not  help  muttering:  "I  suspected 
that." 

The  notary  continued:  "I  shall  read  you  the  doc- 
ument which  is  very  brief. 


"'I,  the  undersigned,  P.iiil  Emile  Cyprien  Gontran,  Count  de 
Vaudrec,  sound  both  in  body  and  mind,  here  express  my  last  wishes. 
As  death  might  take  me  away  at  any  moment,  I  wish  to  take  the 
precaution  of  drawing  up  my  will,  to  be  deposited  with  M.  Lama- 
neur. 

"  '  Having  no  direct  heirs,  I  bequeath  all  my  fortune,  comprising 
stocks  and  bonds  for  six  hundred  thousnnd  francs  and  landed  property 
for  five  hundred  thousand,  to  Mme.  Claire  Madeleine  du  Roy  uncon- 
ditionally. I  beg  her  to  accept  that  gift  from  a  dead  friend  as  a  proof 
of  devoted,  profound,  and  respectful  affection.'" 


The  notary  said:  "That  is  all.  That  document 
bears  the  date  of  August  last,  and  took  the  place  of 
one  of  the  same  nature  made  two  years  ago  in  the 
name  of  Mme.  Claire  Madeleine  Forestier.  I  have  the 
first  will,  which  would  prove,  in  case  of  contestation 
on  the  part  of  the  family,  that  Count  de  Vaudrec  had 
not  changed  his  mind." 

Madeleine  cast  down  her  eyes;  her  cheeks  were 
pale.     Georges  nervously  twisted  his  mustache. 

The  notary  continued  after  a  moment's  pause:  "It 
is  of  course  understood  that  Madame  cannot  accept 
that  legacy  without  your  consent." 


164  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Du  Roy  rose  and  said  shortly:  "I  ask  time  for 
reflection." 

The  notary  smiled,  bowed,  and  replied  pleasantly: 
"1  comprehend  the  scruples  which  cause  you  to  hesi- 
tate, I  may  add  that  M.  de  Vaudrec's  nephew,  who 
was  informed  this  morning  of  his  uncle's  last  wishes, 
expresses  himself  as  ready  to  respect  them  if  he  be 
given  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  In  my  opinion 
the  will  cannot  be  broken,  but  a  lawsuit  would  cause 
a  sensation  which  you  would  probably  like  to  avoid. 
The  world  often  judges  uncharitably.  Can  you  let 
me  have  your  reply  before  Saturday  ?  " 

Georges  bowed,  and  together  with  his  wife  left 
the  office.  When  they  arrived  home,  Du  Roy  closed 
the  door  and  throwing  his  hat  on  the  bed,  asked: 
"What  were  the  relations  between  you  and  Vau- 
drec?" 

Madeleine,  who  was  taking  off  her  veil,  turned 
around  with  a  shudder:     "Between  us?" 

"Yes,  between  you  and  him!  One  does  not  leave 
one's  entire  fortune  to  a  woman  unless  — " 

She  trembled,  and  could  scarcely  take  out  the  pins 
which  fastened  the  transparent  tissue.  Then  she 
stammered  in  an  agitated  manner:  "You  are  mad  — 
you  are  —  you  are  —  you  did  not  think  —  he  would 
leave  you  anything!" 

Georges  replied,  emphazing  each  word:  "  Yes,  he 
could  have  left  me  something;  me,  your  husband,  his 
friend;  but  not  you,  my  wife  and  his  friend.  The 
distinction  is  material  m  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

Madeleine  gazed  at  him  fixedly:  "It  seems  to  me 
that  the  world  would  have  considered  a  legacy  from 
him  to  you  very  strange." 


BEI.-AMI  165 

"Why?" 

"Because,"  —  she  hesitated,  then  continued:  "Be- 
cause you  are  my  husband;  because  you  were  not 
well  acquainted;  because  I  have  been  his  friend  so 
long;  because  his  first  will,  made  during  Forestier's 
lifetime,  was  already  in  my  favor." 

Georges  began  to  pace  to  and  fro.  He  finally 
said:    "You  cannot  accept  that." 

She  answered  indifferently:  "Very  well;  it  is  not 
necessary  then  to  wait  until  Saturday;  you  can  inform 
M.  Lamancur  at  once." 

He  paused  before  her,  and  they  gazed  into  one 
another's  eyes  as  if  by  that  mute  and  ardent  interro- 
gation they  were  trying  to  examine  each  other's  con- 
sciences. In  a  low  voice  he  murmured:  "Come, 
confess  your  relations." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "You  are  absurd. 
Vaudrec  was  very  fond  of  me,  very,  but  there  was 
nothing  more,  never." 

He  stamped  his  foot.  "You  He!  It  is  not 
possible." 

She  repHed  calmly:  "It  is  so,  nevertheless." 

He  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro;  then  pausing 
again,  he  said:  "Explain  to  me,  then,  why  he  left 
all  his  fortune  to  you." 

She  did  so  with  a  nonchalant  air:  "It  is  very 
simple.  As  you  said  just  now,  we  were  his  only 
friends,  or  rather,  I  was  his  only  friend,  for  he  knew 
me  when  a  child.  My  mother  was  a  governess  in 
his  father's  house.  He  came  here  continually,  and  as 
he  had  no  legal  heirs,  he  selected  me.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  he  even  loved  me  a  little.  But  what 
woman  has  never   been  loved  thus  ?    He  brought  me 


1 66  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

flowers  every  Monday.  You  were  never  surprised  at 
that,  and  he  never  brought  you  any.  To-day  he 
leaves  me  his  fortune  for  the  same  reason,  because 
he  had  no  one  else  to  leave  it  to.  It  would  on  the 
other  hand  have  been  extremely  surprising  if  he  had 
left  it  to  you." 

«'V/hy?" 

"What  are  you  to  him.?" 

She  spoke  so  naturally  and  so  calmly  that  Georges 
hesitated  before  replying:  "It  makes  no  difference; 
we  cannot  accept  that  bequest  under  those  condi- 
tions. Everyone  would  talk  about  it  and  laugh  at 
me.  My  fellow-journalists  are  already  too  much  dis- 
posed to  be  jealous  of  me  and  to  attack  me.  I  have 
to  be  especially  careful  of  my  honor  and  my  reputa- 
tion. I  cannot  permit  my  wife  to  accept  a  legacy  of 
that  kind  from  a  man  whom  rumor  has  already  as- 
signed to  her  as  her  lover.  Forestier  might  perhaps 
have  tolerated  that,  but  I  shall  not." 

She  replied  gently:  "Very  well,  my  dear,  we  will 
not  take  it;  it  will  be  a  million  less  in  our  pockets, 
that  is  all." 

Georges  paced  the  room  and  uttered  his  thoughts 
aloud,  thus  speaking  to  his  wife  without  addressing 
her: 

"Yes,  a  million  —  so  much  the  worse.  He  did 
not  think  when  making  his  will  what  a  breach  of 
etiquette  he  was  committing.  He  did  not  realize  in 
what  a  false,  ridiculous  position  he  was  placing  me. 
He  should  have  left  half  of  it  to  me  —  that  would 
have  made  matters  right." 

He  seated  himself,  crossed  his  legs  and  began  to 
twist  the  ends   of  his   mustache,  as   was   his  custom 


BEL-AMI 


167 


when  annoyed,  uneasy,  or  pondering  over  a  weighty 
question. 

Madeleine  took  up  a  piece  of  embroidery  upon 
which  she  worked  occasionally,  and  said:  "I  have 
nothing  to  say.     You  must  decide." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  replied;  then  he  said 
hesitatingly:  "The  world  would  never  understand 
how  it  was  that  Vaudrec  constituted  you  his  sole 
heiress  and  that  1  allowed  it.  To  accept  that  legacy 
would  be  to  avow  guilty  relations  on  your  part  and 
an  infamous  lack  of  self-respect  on  mine.  Do  you 
know  how  the  acceptance  of  it  might  be  interpreted? 
We  should  have  to  find  some  adroit  means  of  pal- 
liating it.  We  should  have  to  give  people  to  suppose, 
for  instance,  that  he  divided  his  fortune  between  us, 
giving  half  to  you  and  half  to  me." 

She  said:  "1  do  not  see  how  that  can  be  done, 
since  there  is  a  formal  will." 

He  replied:  "Oh,  that  is  very  simple.  We  have 
no  children;  you  can  therefore  deed  me  part  of  the 
inheritance.  In  that  way  we  can  silence,  malignant 
tongues." 

She  answered  somewhat  impatiently:  "I  do  not 
see  how  we  can  silence  malignant  tongues  since  the 
will  is  there,  signed  by  Vaudrec." 

He  said  angrily:  "Do  you  need  to  exhibit  it, 
or  affix  it  to  the  door?  You  are  absurd!  We  will 
say  that  the  fortune  was  left  us  jointly  by  Count 
de  Vaudrec.  That  is  all.  You  cannot,  moreover, 
accept  the  legacy  without  my  authority;  I  will  only 
consent  on  the  condition  of  a  partition  which  will 
prevent  me  from  becoming  a  laughing-stock  for  the 
world." 


1 68  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  glanced  sharply  at  him:  "As  you  wilL  I  am 
ready." 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  again,  rose,  paced  the  floor, 
and  avoiding  his  wife's  piercing  gaze,  he  said:  "No 
—  decidedly  no  —  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  re- 
nounce it  altogether — it  would  be  more  correct — 
more  honorable.  From  the  nature  of  the  bequest 
even  charitably-disposed  people  would  suspect  illicit 
relations." 

He  paused  before  Madeleine.  "If  you  like,  my 
darling,  I  will  return  to  M.  Lamaneur's  alone,  to 
consult  him  and  to  explain  the  matter  to  him.  I 
will  tell  him  of  my  scruples  and  1  will  add  that  we 
have  agreed  to  divide  it  in  order  to  avoid  any 
scandal.  From  the  moment  that  1  accept  a  portion 
of  the  inheritance  it  will  be  evident  that  there  is 
nothing  wrong,  1  can  say:  'My  wife  accepts  it  be- 
cause I,  her  husband,  accept'  —  1,  who  am  the  best 
judge  of  what  she  can  do  without  compromising 
herself." 

Madeleine  simply  murmured:     "As  you  wish." 

He  continued:  "Yes,  it  will  be  as  clear  as  day  if 
that  is  done.  We  inherit  a  fortune  from  a  friend 
who  wished  to  make  no  distinction  between  us, 
thereby  showing  that  his  liking  for  you  was  purely 
Platonic.  You  may  be  sure  that  if  he  had  given  it  a 
thought,  that  is  what  he  would  have  done.  He  did 
not  reflect  —  he  did  not  foresee  the  consequences. 
As  you  said  just  now,  he  offered  you  flowers  every 
week,  he  left  you  his  wealth." 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  shade  of  annoyance: 

"I  understand.  No  more  explanations  are  neces- 
sary.    Go  to  the  notary  at  once." 


BEL-AMI  169 

He  stammered  in  confusion:  "You  are  right;  I 
will  go."  He  took  his  hat,  and,  as  he  was  leaving 
the  room,  he  asked:  "Shall  1  try  to  compromise 
with  the  nephew  for  fifty  thousand  francs?" 

She  replied  haughtily:  "No.  Give  him  the  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  he  demands,  and  take  them 
from  my  share  if  you  wish." 

Abashed,  he  murmured:  "No,  we  will  share  it. 
After  deducting  fifty  thousand  francs  each  we  will 
still  have  a  million  net."  Then  he  added:  "Until 
later,  my  little  Made." 

He  proceeded  to  the  notary's  to  explain  the  ar- 
rangement decided  upon,  which  he  claimed  originated 
with  his  wife.  The  following  day  they  signed  a  deed 
for  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  iVladeleine  du 
Roy  gave  up  to  her  husband. 

On  leaving  the  office,  as  it  was  pleasant,  Georges 
proposed  that  they-  take  a  stroll  along  the  boule- 
vards. He  was  very  tender,  very  careful  of  her,  and 
laughed  joyously  while  she  remained  pensive  and 
grave. 

It  was  a  cold,  autumn  day.  The  pedestrians  seemed 
in  haste  and  walked  along  rapidly. 

Du  Roy  led  his  wife  to  the  shop  into  the  windows 
of  which  he  had  so  often  gazed  at  the  coveted 
chronometer. 

"Shall  1  buy  you  some  trinket?"  he  asked. 

She  replied  indifferently:     "As  you  like." 

They  entered  the  shop:  "What  would  you  pre- 
fer, a  necklace,  a  bracelet,  or  earrings?" 

The  sight  of  the  brilliant  gems  made  her  eyes 
sparkle  in  spite  of  herself,  as  she  glanced  at  the  cases 
tllle\3  with  costly  baubles. 


lyo  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Suddenly  she  exclaimed:  "There  is  a  lovely 
bracelet." 

It  was  a  chain,  very  unique  in  shape,  every  link 
of  which  was  set  with  a  different  stone. 

Georges  asked:     "How  much  is  that  bracelet?" 

The  jeweler  replied:  "Three  thousand  francs, 
sir." 

"If  you  will  let  me  have  it  for  two  thousand  five 
hundred,  I  will  take  it." 

The  man  hesitated,  then  replied:  "No,  sir,  it  is 
impossible." 

Du  Roy  said:  "See  here  —  throw  in  this  chro- 
nometer at  fifteen  hundred  francs;  that  makes  four 
thousand,  and  I  will  pay  cash.  If  you  do  not  agree, 
I  will  go  somewhere  else." 

The  jeweler  finally  yielded.     "Very  well,  sir." 

The  journalist,  after  leaving  his  address,  said: 
"You  can  have  my  initials  G.  R.  C.  interlaced  below 
a  baron's  crown,  engraved  on  the  chronometer." 

Madeleine,  in  surprise,  smiled,  and  when  they 
left  the  shop,  she  took  his  arm  quite  affectionately. 
She  thought  him  very  shrewd  and  clever.  He  was 
right;  now  that  he  had  a  fortune  he  must  have  a 
title. 

They  passed  the  Vaudeville  on  their  way  and,  en- 
tering, secured  a  box.  Then  they  repaired  to  Mme. 
de  Marelle's  at  Georges'  suggestion,  to  invite  her  to 
spend  the  evening  with  them.  Georges  rather  dreaded 
the  first  meeting  with  Clotilde,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  bear  him  any  malice,  or  even  to  remember  their 
disagreement.  The  dinner,  which  they  took  at  a  res- 
taurant, was  excellent,  and  the  evening  altogether  en- 
joyable. 


BEL- AMI 


171 


Georges  and  Madeleine  returned  home  late.  The 
gas  was  extinguished,  and  in  order  to  light  the  way 
the  journalist  from  time  to  time  struck  a  match.  On 
reaching  the  landing  on  the  first  floor  they  saw  their 
reflections  in  the  mirror.  Du  Roy  raised  his  hand 
with  the  lighted  match  in  it,  in  order  to  distinguish 
their  images  more  clearly,  and  said,  with  a  trium- 
phant smile: 

"The  millionaires  are  passing  by/' 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Suzanne 


OROCCO  had  been  conquered;  France, 
the  mistress  of  Tangiers,  had  guar- 
anteed   the    debt    of   the    annexed 
country.      It    was    rumored    that    two 
ministers,   Laroche-Mathieu   being   one 
of  them,  had  made  twenty  millions. 

As  for  Walter,  in  a  few  days  he  had 
become  one  of  the  masters  of  the  world 
—  a  financier  more  omnipotent  than  a 
king.  He  was  no  longer  the  Jew,  Walter, 
the  director  of  a  bank,  the  proprietor  of  a 
/  yellow  newspaper;  he  was  M.  Walter  the 
wealthy  Israelite,  and  he  wished  to  prove  it. 
Knowing  the  straitened  circumstances  of  the 
Prince  de  Carlsbourg  who  owned  one  of  the  fairest 
mansions  on  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Honore,  he  pro- 
posed to  buy  it.  He  offered  three  million  francs  for 
it.  The  prince,  tempted  by  the  sum,  accepted  his 
offer;  the  next  day,  Walter  took  possession  of  his  new 
dwelling.  Then  another  idea  occurred  to  him — an 
idea  of  conquering  all  Paris  —  an  idea  d  la  Bonaparte. 
At  that  time  everyone  was  raving  over  a  painting 
by  the  Hungarian,  Karl  Marcovitch,  exhibited  by 
(172) 


B  E  I.  -  A  M  I 


17^ 


Jacques  Lenoble  and  representing  "'Christ  Walking 
on  the  Water."  Art  critics  enthusiastically  declared 
it  to  be  the  most  magnificent  painting  of  the  age. 
Walter  bought  it,  thereby  causing  entire  Paris  to  talk 
of  him,  to  envy  him,  to  censure  or  approve  his  ac- 
tion. He  issued  an  announcement  in  the  papers 
that  everyone  was  invited  to  come  on  a  certain  eve- 
ning to  see  it. 

Du  Roy  was  jealous  of  M.  Walter's  success.  He 
had  thought  himself  wealthy  with  the  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  extorted  from  his  wife,  and  now  he 
felt  poor  as  he  compared  his  paltry  fortune  with  the 
shower  of  millions  around  him.  His  envious  rage 
increased  daily.  He  cherished  ill  will  toward  every- 
one—  toward  the  Walters,  even  toward  his  wife,  and 
above  all  toward  the  man  who  had  deceived  him, 
made  use  of  him,  and  who  dined  twice  a  week  at 
his  house.  Georges  acted  as  his  secretary,  agent, 
mouthpiece,  and  when  he  wrote  at  his  dictation,  he 
felt  a  mad  desire  to  strangle  him.  Laroche  reigned 
supreme  in  the  Du  Roy  household,  having  taken  the 
place  of  Count  de  Vaudrec;  he  spoke  to  the  ser/-* 
ants  as  if  he  were  their  master.  Georges  sub- 
mitted to  it  all,  like  a  dog  which  wishes  to  bite  and 
dares  not.  But  he  was  often  harsh  and  brutal  to 
Madeleine,  who  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
treated  him  as  one  would  a  fretful  child.  She  was 
surprised,  too,  at  his  constant  ill  humor,  and  said: 
"I  do  not  understand  you.  You  are  always  com- 
plaining.    Your  position  is  excellent." 

His  only  reply  was  ?c  turn  his  back  upon  her. 
He  declared  that  he  would  not  attend  M.  Walter's 
fete  —  that   he    would   not   cross   the    miserable   Jew's 


1^4  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

threshold.  For  two  months  Mme.  Walter  had  writ- 
ten to  him  daily,  beseeching  him  to  come  to  see 
her,  to  appoint  a  meeting  where  he  would,  in  order 
that  she  might  give  him  the  seventy  thousand  francs 
she  had  made  for  him.  He  did  not  reply  and  threw 
her  letters  into  the  fire.  Not  that  he  would  have  re- 
fused to  accept  his  share  of  the  profits,  but  he  enjoyed 
treating  her  scornfully,  trampHng  her  under  foot;  she 
was  too  wealthy;  he  would  be  inflexible. 

The  day  of  the  exhibition  of  the  picture,  as  Made- 
leine chided  him  for  not  going,  he  replied:  "Leave 
me  in  peace.     I  shall  remain  at  home." 

After  they  had  dined,  he  said  suddenly,  "I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  to  go  through  with  it.  Get  ready 
quickly." 

"I  shall  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes,"  she  said. 
As  they  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  de 
Carlsbourg  it  was  one  blaze  of  light.  A  magnifi- 
cent carpet  was  spread  upon  the  steps  leading  to  the 
entrance,  and  upon  each  one  stood  a  man  in  livery, 
as  rigid  as  marble. 

Du  Roy's  heart  was  torn  with  jealousy.  He  and 
^iis  wife  ascended  the  steps  and  gave  their  wraps  to 
the  footmen  who  approached  them. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  drawing-room,  two  children, 
one  in  pink,  the  other  in  blue,  handed  bouquets  to  the 
ladies. 

The  rooms  were  already  well  filled.  The  major- 
ity of  the  ladies  were  in  street  costumes,  a  proof 
that  they  came  thither  as  they  would  go  to  any  ex- 
hibition. The  few  who  intended  to  remain  to  the 
ball  which  was  to  follow  wore  evening  dress. 

Mme.  Walter,  surrounded  by  friends,  stood  in  the 


BEL-AMI 


175 


second  salon  and  received  the  visitors.  Many  did 
not  know  her,  and  walked  through  the  rooms  as  if 
in  a  museum  —  without  paying  any  heed  to  the  host 
and  hostess. 

When  Virginie  perceived  Du  Roy,  she  grew  hvid 
and  made  a  movement  toward  him;  then  she  paused 
and  waited  for  him  to  advance.  He  bowed  cere- 
moniously, while  Madeleine  greeted  her  effusively. 
Georges  left  his  wife  near  Mme.  Walter  and  mingled 
with  the  guests.  Five  drawing-rooms  opened  one 
into  the  other;  they  were  carpeted  with  rich,  oriental 
rugs,  and  upon  their  walls  hung  paintings  by  the  old 
masters.  As  he  made  his  way  through  the  throng, 
some  one  seized  his  arm,  and  a  fresh,  youthful  voice 
whispered  in  his  ear:  "Ah,  here  you  are  at  last, 
naughty  Bel-Ami!  Why  do  we  never  see  you  any 
more  ?" 

It  was  Suzanne  Walter,  with  her  azure  eyes  and 
wealth  of  golden  hair.  He  was  delighted  to  see  her, 
and  apologized  as  they  shook  hands. 

"I  have  been  so  busy  for  two  months  that  1  have 
been  nowhere." 

She  replied  gravely:  "That  is  too  bad.  You  have 
grieved  us  deeply,  for  mamma  and  I  adore  you.  As 
for  myself,  I  cannot  do  without  you.  If  you  are  not 
here,  I  am  bored  to  death.  You  see  I  tell  you  so 
frankly,  that  you  will  not  remain  away  like  that  any 
more.  Give  me  your  arm;  I  will  show  you  'Christ 
Walking  on  the  Water '  myself;  it  is  at  the  very  end, 
behind  the  conservatory.  Papa  put  it  back  there  so 
that  everyone  would  be  obliged  to  go  through  the 
rooms.  It  is  astonishing  how  proud  papa  is  of  this 
house." 


irj^  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

As  they  walked  through  the  rooms,  all  turned 
to  look  at  that  handsome  man  and  that  bewitching 
girl.  A  well-known  painter  said:  "There  is  a  fine 
couple."  Georges  thought:  "If  my  position  had 
been  made,  I  would  have  married  her.  Why  did  I 
never  think  of  it  ?  How  could  I  have  taken  the  other 
one?  What  folly!  One  always  acts  too  hastily  — 
one  never  reflects  sufficiently."  And  longing,  bitter 
longing  possessed  him,  corrupting  all  his  pleasure, 
rendering  life  odious. 

Suzanne  said:  "You  must  come  often,  Bel-Ami; 
we  can  do  anything  we  like  now  papa  is  rich." 

He  replied:  "Oh,  you  will  soon  marry  —  some 
prince,  perhaps,  and  we  shall  never  meet  any  more." 

She  cried  frankly:  "Oh,  oh,  I  shall  not!  I  shall 
choose  some  one  I  love  very  dearly.  I  am  rich 
enough  for  two." 

He  smiled  ironically  and  said:  "I  give  you  six 
months.  By  that  time  you  will  be  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise, Madame  la  Duchesse,  or  Madame  la  Princesse, 
and  you  will  look  down  upon  me,  Mademoiselle." 

She  pretended  to  be  angry,  patted  his  arm  with 
her  fan,  and  vowed  that  she  would  marry  according 
to  the  dictates  of  her  heart. 

He  replied:  "We  shall  see;  you  are  too  wealthy." 

"You,  too,   have  inherited  some  money." 

"Barely  twenty  thousand  livres  a  year.  It  is  a 
mere  pittance  nowadays." 

"But  your  wife  has  the  same." 

"Yes,  we  have  a  million  together;  forty  thousand 
a  year.     We  cannot  even  keep  a  carriage  on  that." 

They  had,  in  the  meantime,  reached  the  last 
drawing-room,  and  before   them  lay  the  conservatory 


BEL-AMI 


177 


with  its  rare  shrubs  and  plants.  To  their  left,  under 
a  dome  of  palms,  was  a  marble  basin,  on  the  edges 
of  which  four  large  swans  of  delftware  emitted  the 
water  from  their  beaks. 

The  journalist  stopped  and  said  to  himself:  "This 
is  luxury;  this  is  the  kind  of  house  in  which  to  live. 
Why  can  I  not  have  one?" 

His  companion  did  not  speak.  He  looked  at  her 
and  thought  once  more:     "If  I  only  had  taken  her!" 

Suddenly  Suzanne  seemed  to  awaken  from  her 
reverie.  "Come,"  said  she,  dragging  Georges  through 
a  group  which  barred  their  way,  and  turning  him  to 
the  right.  Before  him,  surrounded  by  verdure  on  all 
sides,  was  the  picture.  One  had  to  look  closely  at  it 
in  order  to  understand  it.  It  was  a  grand  work  — 
the  work  of  a  master  —  one  of  those  triumphs  of  art 
which  furnishes  one  for  years  with  food  for  thought. 

Du  Roy  gazed  at  it  for  some  time,  and  then  turned 
away,  to  make  room  for  others.  Suzanne's  tiny  hand 
still  rested  upon  his  arm.     She  asked: 

"Would  you  like  a  glass  of  champagne?  We  will 
go  to  the  buffet;  we  shall  find  papa  there." 

Slowly  they  traversed  the  crowded  rooms.  Sud- 
denly Georges  heard  a  voice  say:  "That  is  Laroche 
and  Mme.  du  Roy." 

He  turned  and  saw  his  wife  passing  upon  the 
minister's  arm.  They  were  talking  in  low  tones  and 
smiling  into  each  other's  eyes.  He  fancied  he  saw 
some  people  whisper,  as  they  gazed  at  them,  and  he 
felt  a  desire  to  fall  upon  those  two  beings  and  smite 
them  to  the  earth.  His  wife  was  making  a  laughing- 
stock of  him.  Who  was  she?  A  shrewd  little  par- 
venue,  that  was  all.     He  could  never  make  his  way 

7    G.  de  M. — la 


I'jS  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

with  a  wife  wiio  compromised  him.  She  would  be  a 
stumbling-block,  in  his  path.  Ah,  if  he  had  foreseen, 
if  he  had  known.  He  would  have  played  for  higher 
stakes.  What  a  brilliant  match  he  might  have  made 
with  little  Suzanne  I  How  could  he  have  been  so 
bHnd? 

They  reached  the  dining-room  with  its  marble 
columns  and  walls  hung  with  old  Gobelins  tapestry. 
Walter  spied  his  editor,  and  hastened  to  shake 
hands.  He  was  beside  himself  with  joy.  "Have  you 
seen  everything?  Say,  Suzanne,  have  you  shown  him 
everything?  What  a  lot  of  people,  eh?  Have  you 
seen  Prince  de  Guerche  ?  he  just  drank  a  glass  of 
punch."  Then  he  pounced  upon  Senator  Rissolin 
and   his  wife. 

A  gentleman  greeted  Suzanne  —  a  tall,  slender  man 
with  fair  whiskers  and  a  worldly  air.  Georges  heard 
her  call  him  Marquis  de  CazoUes,  and  he  was  sud- 
denly inspired  with  jealousy.  How  long  had  she 
known  him  ?  Since  she  had  become  wealthy  no 
doubt.  He  saw  in  him  a  possible  suitor.  Some  one 
seized  his  arm.  It  was  Norbert  de  Varenne.  The 
old  poet  said:  "This  is  what  they  call  amusing 
themselves.  After  a  while  they  will  dance,  then 
they  will  retire,  and  the  young  girls  will  be  satisfied. 
Take  some  champagne;  it  is  excellent." 

Georges  scarcely  heard  his  words.  He  was  look- 
ing for  Suzanne,  who  had  gone  off  with  the  Marquis 
de  Cazolles;  he  left  Norbert  de  Varenne  abruptly  and 
went  in  pursuit  of  the  young  girl.  The  thirsty  crowd 
stopped  him;  when  he  had  made  his  way  through 
it,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  M.  and  Mme. 
de  Marelle.     He  had  often    met   the  wife,  but   he   had 


BEL- AMI  179 

not  met  the  husband  for  some  time;  the  latter 
grasped  both  of  his  hands  and  thanked  him  for  the 
message  he  had  sent  him  by  Clotilde  relative  to  the 
stocks. 

Du  Roy  repHed:  "In  exchange  for  that  service  I 
shall  take  your  wife,  or  rather  offer  her  my  arm. 
Husband  and  wife  should  always  be  separated." 

M.  de  Marelle  bowed.  "Very  well.  If  I  lose  you 
we  can  meet  here  again  in  an  hour." 

The  two  young  people  disappeared  in  the  crowd, 
followed  by  the  husband. 

Mme.  de  Marelle  said:  "There  are  two  girls  who 
will  have  twenty  or  thirty  millions  each,  and  Suzanne 
is  pretty  in  the  bargain." 

He  made  no  reply;  his  own  thought  coming  from 
the  lips  of  another  irritated  him.  He  took  Clotilde 
to  see  the  painting.  As  they  crossed  the  conserva- 
tory he  saw  his  wife  seated  near  Laroche-Mathieu, 
both  of  them  almost  hidden  behind  a  group  of 
plants.  They  seemed  to  say:  "We  are  having  a 
meeting  in  public,  for  we  do  not  care  for  the  world's 
opinion." 

Mme.  de  Marelle  admired  Karl  Marcovltch's  paint- 
ing, and  they  turned  to  repair  to  the  other  rooms. 
They  were  separated  from  M.  de  Marelle.  He  asked: 
"Is  Laurine  still  vexed  with  me?" 

"Yes.  She  refuses  to  see  you  and  goes  away 
when  you  are  mentioned." 

He  did  not  reply.  The  child's  sudden  enmity 
grieved  and  annoyed  him. 

Suzanne  met  them  at  a  door  and  cried:  "Oh,  here 
you  are!  Now,  Bel-Ami,  you  are  going  to  be  left 
alone,  for  I  shall  take  Clotilde  to  see  my  room."    And 


l8o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  two  women  glided  through  the  throng.  At  that 
moment  a  voice  at  his  side   murmured:   "Georges I" 

It  was  Mme.  Walter.  She  continued  in  a  low 
voice:  "How  cruel  you  are!  How  needlessly  you  in- 
flict suffering  upon  me.  I  bade  Suzanne  take  that 
woman  away  that  I  might  have  a  word  with  you. 
Listen:  I  must  speak  to  you  this  evening  —  or — or  — 
you  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do.  Go  into  the  con- 
servatory. You  will  find  a  door  to  the  left  through 
which  you  can  reach  the  garden.  Follow  the  walk 
directly  in  front  of  you.  At  the  end  of  it  you  will 
see  an  arbor.  Expect  me  in  ten  minutes.  If  you  do 
not  meet  me,  I  swear  I  will  cause  a  scandal  here  at 
once!" 

He  replied  haughtily:  "Very  well,  I  shall  be  at 
the  place  you  named  in  ten  minutes." 

But  Jacques  Rival  detained  him.  When  he  reached 
the  alley,  he  saw  Mme.  Walter  in  front  of  him;  she 
cried:  "Ah,  here  you  are!     Do  you  wish  to  kill  me?" 

He  replied  calmly:  "I  beseech  you,  none  of  that, 
or  1  shall  leave  you  at  once." 

Throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  ex- 
claimed: "What  have  I  done  to  you  that  you  should 
treat  me  so?" 

He  tried  to  push  her  away:  'You  twisted  your 
hair  around  my  coat  buttons  the  last  time  we  met, 
and  it  caused   trouble   between  my  wife  and  myself." 

She  shook  her  head:  "Ah,  your  wife  would  not 
care.  It  was  one  of  your  mistresses  who  made  a 
scene." 

"1  have  none." 

"Indeed!  Why  do  you  never  come  to  see  me? 
Why  do   you   refuse   to   dine    with    me    even    once   a 


BEL-AMI  !8l 

week?  I  have  no  other  thoughts  than  of  you.  I 
suffer  terribly.  You  cannot  understand  that  your 
image,  always  present,  closes  my  throat,  stifles  me, 
and  leaves  me  scarcely  strength  enough  to  move  my 
limbs  in  order  to  walk.  So  1  remain  all  day  in  my 
chair  thinking  of  you." 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  These  were 
the  words  of  a  desperate  woman,  capable  of  anything. 
He,  however,  cherished  a  vague  project  and  replied: 
"My  dear,  love  is  not  eternal.  One  loves  and  one 
ceases  to  love.  When  it  lasts  it  becomes  a  draw- 
back. I  want  none  of  it!  However,  if  you  will  be 
reasonable,  and  will  receive  and  treat  me  as  a  friend, 
I  will  come  to  see  you  as  formerly.  Can  you  do 
that  ?  " 

She  murmured:  "1  can  do  anything  in  order  to 
see  you." 

"Then  it  is  agreed  that  we  are  to  be  friends, 
nothing  more." 

She  gasped:  "It  is  agreed";  offering  him  her  lips 
she  cried  in  her  despair:  "One  more  kiss  —  one  last 
kissl" 

He  gently  drew  back.  "No,  we  must  adhere  to 
our  rules." 

She  turned  her  head  and  wiped  away  two  tears, 
then  drawing  from  her  bosom  a  package  of  notes 
tied  with  pink  ribbon,  she  held  it  toward  Du  Roy: 
"  Here  is  your  share  of  the  profits  in  that  Moroccan 
affair.  I  was  so  glad  to  make  it  for  you.  Here, 
take  it." 

He  refused:  "No,  I  cannot  accept  that  money." 

She  became  excited:  "Oh,  you  will  not  refuse  it 
now!     It  is  yours,  yours   alone.     If  you   do    not  take 


182 


WORKS   OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


it,  I  will  throw  it  in  the  sewer.  You  will  not  refuse 
it,  Georges!" 

He  took  the  package  and  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket.  "We  must  return  to  the  house;  you  will 
take  cold." 

"So  much  the  better;  if  1  could  but  die!" 

She  seized  his  hand,  kissed  it  passionately,  and  fled 
toward  the  house.  He  returned  more  leisurely,  and 
entered  the  conservatory  with  head  erect  and  smiling 
lips.  His  wife  and  Laroche  were  no  longer  there. 
The  crowd  had  grown  thinner.  Suzanne,  leaning  on 
her  sisters  arm,  advanced  toward  him.  In  a  few 
moments,  Rose,  whom  they  teased  about  a  certain 
Count,  turned  upon  her  heel  and  left  them. 

Du  Roy,  finding  himself  alone  with  Suzanne,  said 
in  a  caressing  voice:  "Listen,  my  dear  little  one;  do 
you  really  consider  me  a  friend.^" 

"Why,  yes,  Bel-Ami." 

"You  have  faith  in  me?" 

"Perfect  faith." 

"Do  you  remember  what  1  said  to  you  a  while 
since  ?" 

"About  what?" 

"About  your  marriage,  or  rather  the  man  you 
would  marry." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  will  you  promise  me  one  thing?" 

"Yes;  what  is  it?" 

"To  consult  me  when  you  receive  a  proposal  and 
to  accept  no  one  without  asking  my  advice." 

"Yes,  1  will  gladly." 

"And  it  is  to  be  a  secret  between  us  —  not  a 
word  to  your  father  or  mother." 


BEL-AMI  183 

"Not  a  word." 

Rival  approached  them  saying:  "  Mademoiselle, 
your  father  wants  you  in  the  ballroom." 

She  said:  "Come,  Bel-Ami,"  but  he  refused,  for 
he  had  decided  to  leave  at  once,  wishing  to  be  alone 
with  his  thoughts.  He  went  in  search  of  his  wife, 
and  found  her  drinking  chocolate  at  the  buffet  with 
two  strange  men.  She  introduced  her  husband  with- 
out naming  them. 

in  a  short  while,  he  asked:   "Shall  we  go?" 

"Whenever  you   like." 

She  took  his  arm  and  they  passed  through  the 
almost  deserted  rooms. 

Madeleine  asked:  "Where  is  Mme.  Walter;  I 
should  like  to  bid  her  good-bye." 

"  it  is  unnecessary.  She  would  try  to  keep  us  in 
the  ballroom,  and  I  have  had  enough." 

"You  are  right." 

On  the  way  home  they  did  not  speak.  But  when 
they  had  entered  their  room,  Madeleine,  without  even 
taking  off  her  veil,  said  to  him  with  a  smile:  "I 
have  a  surprise  for  you." 

He  growled  ill-naturedly:     "What  is  it?" 

"  Guess." 

"I  cannot  make  the  effort." 

"The  day  after  to-morrow  is  the  first  of  Jan- 
uary." 

""Yes." 

"it  is  the  season  for  New  Year's  gifts." 

"Yes." 

"Here  is  yours,  which  Laroche  handed  me  just 
now."  She  gave  him  a  small  black  box  which  re- 
sembled a  jewel-casket. 


J  84  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  opened  it  indifferently  and  saw  the  cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  He  turned  a  trifle  pale,  then 
smiled,  and  said:  "1  should  have  preferred  ten  mil- 
lions.    That  did  not  cost  him  much." 

She  had  expected  a  transport  of  dehght  and  was 
irritated  by  his  indifference. 

"You  are  incomprehensible.  Nothing  seems  to 
satisfy  you." 

He  replied  calmly:  "That  man  is  only  paying  his 
debts;  he  owes  me  a  great  deal  more." 

She  was  astonished  at  his  tone,  and  said:  "It  is 
very  nice,  however,  at  your  age." 

He  replied:     "I  should  have  much  more." 

He  took  the  casket,  placed  it  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  looked  for  some  minutes  at  the  brilliant  star 
within  it,  then  he  closed  it  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders and  began  to  prepare  to  retire. 

"  L'Officiel "  of  January  i  announced  that  M. 
Prosper  Georges  du  Roy  had  been  decorated  with  the 
Legion  of  Honor  for  exceptional  services.  The  name 
was  written  in  two  words,  and  that  afforded  Georges 
more  pleasure  than  the  decoration  itself. 

An  hour  after  having  read  that  notice,  he  received 
a  note  from  Mme.  Walter,  inviting  him  to  come  and 
bring  his  wife  to  dine  with  them  that  evening,  to 
celebrate    his    distinction. 

At  first  he  hesitated,  then  throwing  the  letter  irr 
the  fire,  he  said  to  Madeleine:  "We  shall  dine  at 
the  Walters'  this  evening." 

In  her  surprise  she  exclaimed:  "Why,  I  thought 
you  would  never  set  your  foot  in  their  house  again." 

His  sole  reply  was:     "1  have  changed  my  mind." 


BEL-AMI  185 

When  they  arrived  at  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Ho- 
nore,  they  found  Mme.  Walter  alone  in  the  dainty 
boudoir  in  which  she  received  her  intimate  friends. 
She  was  dressed  in  black  and  her  hair  was  pow- 
dered. At  a  distance  she  appeared  like  an  old  lady, 
in  proximity,  like  a  youthful  one. 

"Are  you  in  mourning.?"  asked  Madeleine. 

She  replied  sadly:  "Yes  and  no.  I  have  lost  none 
of  my  relatives,  but  1  have  arrived  at  an  age  when 
one  should  wear  somber  colors.  1  wear  it  to-day  to 
inaugurate  it;  hitherto  1  have  worn  it  in  my  heart." 

The  dinner  was  somewhat  tedious.  Suzanne  alone 
talked  incessantly.  Rose  seemed  preoccupied.  The 
journalist  was  overwhelmed  with  congratulations,  after 
the  meal,  when  all  repaired  to  the  drawing-rooms. 
Mme.  Walter  detained  him  as  they  were  about  to 
enter  the  salon,  saying:  "I  will  never  speak  of  any- 
thing to  you  again,  only  come  to  see  me,  Georges. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  live  without  you.  1  see 
you,  I  feel  you,  in  my  heart  all  day  and  all  night.  It 
is  as  if  I  had  drunk  a  poison  which  preyed  upon  me. 
I  cannot  bear  it.  I  would  rather  be  as  an  old  woman 
to  you.  1  powdered  my  hair  for  that  reason  to-night; 
but  come  here  —  come  from  time  to  time  as  a  friend." 

He  replied  calmly:  "Very  well.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  speak  of  it  again.  You  see  I  came  to-day  on  re- 
ceipt of  your  letter." 

Walter,  who  had  preceded  them,  with  his  two 
daughters  and  Madeleine,  awaited  Du  Roy  near  the 
picture  of  "Christ  Walking  on  the  Water." 

"Only  think,"  said  he,  "I  found  my  wife  yester- 
day kneeling  before  that  painting  as  if  in  a  chapel. 
She  was  praying!  " 


l86  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Mme.  Walter  replied  in  a  firm  voice,  in  a  voice  in 
which  vibrated  a  secret  exaltation:  "That  Christ  will 
save  my  soul.  He  gives  me  fresh  courage  and 
strength  every  time  that  1  look  at  Him."  And  paus- 
ing before  the  picture,  she  murmured:  "How  beauti- 
ful He  is!  How  frightened  those  men  are,  and  how 
they  love  Him!  Look  at  His  head,  His  eyes,  how 
simple  and  supernatural  He  is  at  the  same  time!" 

Suzanne  cried:  "Why,  He  looks  like  you,  Bel- 
Ami!  1  am  sure  He  looks  like  you.  The  resemblance 
is  striking." 

She  made  him  stand  beside  the  painting  and  every- 
one recognized  the  likeness.  Du  Roy  was  embar- 
rassed.  Walter  thought  it  very  singular;  Madeleine, 
with  a  smile,  remarked  that  Jesus  looked  more  manly. 
Mme.  Walter  stood  by  motionless,  staring  fixedly  at 
her  lover's  face,  her  cheeks  as  white  as  her  hair. 


CHAPTER     XVI. 


Divorce 

URiNG  the  remainder  of  the  winter, 
the   Du    Roys    often   visited    the 
Walters.  Georges,  too,  frequently 
dined  there  alone,  Madeleine  plead- 
ing fatigue  and  preferring  to  remain 
at  home.     He  had  chosen  Friday  as 
his  day,  and  Mme.  Walter  never  in- 
vited anyone  else  on  that  evening;  it 
belonged  to  Bel-Ami.     Often  in  a  dark 
,  corner  or  behind  a  tree  in  the  conserva- 

Q^,^-"^'^^''^      tory,  Mme.    Walter   embraced    the   young 
''^^^"^  '  man   and  whispered    in   his   ear:     "I    love 
you,  I  love  you!  I  love  you  desperately!" 
But  he  always  repulsed  her  coldly,  saying: 
"If  you  persist  in  that,  I  will  not  come  again." 

Toward  the  end  of  March  people  talked  of  the  mar- 
riage of  the  two  sisters:  Rose  was  to  marry.  Dame 
Rumor  said,  Count  de  Latour-Ivelin  and  Suzanne,  the 
Marquis  de  Cazolles.  The  subject  of  Suzanne's  possi- 
ble marriage  had  not  been  broached  again  between 
her  and  Georges  until  one  morning,  the  latter  having 
been    brought    home     by    M.    Walter    to    lunch,    he 

(187) 


l88  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

whispered   to    Suzanne:     "Come,  let  us  give  the  fish 
some  bread." 

They  proceeded  to  the  conservatory  in  which  was 
the  marble  basin  containing  the  fish.  As  Georges  and 
Suzanne  leaned  over  its  edge,  they  saw  their  reflec- 
tions in  the  water  and  smiled  at  them.  Suddenly,  he 
said  in  a  low  voice:  "It  is  not  right  of  you  to  keep 
secrets  from  me,  Suzanne." 

She  asked: 

"What  secrets,  Bel-Ami?" 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  promised  me  here 
the  night  of  the  fete  ?  " 

"No." 

"To  consult  me  every  time  you  received  a  pro- 
posal." 

"Well.?" 

"Well,  you  have  received  one!" 

"From  whom.?" 

"You  know  very  well." 

"No,  I  swear  I  do  not." 

"Yes,  you  do.  It  is  from  that  fop  of  t  Marquis 
de  Cazolles." 

"  He  is  not  a  fop." 

"That  may  be,  but  he  is  stupid.  He  is  no  match 
for  you  who  are  so  pretty,  so  fresh,  so  bright!" 

She  asked  with  a  smile:  "What  have  you  against 
him?" 

"1?    Nothing!" 

"Yes,  you  have.     He  is  not  all  that  you  say  he  is." 

"He  is  a  fool,  and  an  intriguer." 

She  glanced  at  him:  "What  ails  you?" 

He  spoke  as  if  tearing  a  secret  from  the  depths  of 
his  heart:    "I  am  —  I  am  jealous  of  him." 


BEL-AMI 


189 


She  was  astonished. 

"You?" 

"Yes,  1." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  love  you  and  you  know  it." 

Then  she  said  severely:  "You  are  mad,  Bel- 
Ami!  " 

He  replied:  "1  know  that  1  am!  Should  1  con- 
fess it  —  I,  a  married  man,  to  you,  a  young  girl?  I 
am  worse  than  mad  —  1  am  culpable,  wretched  —  1 
have  no  possible  hope,  and  that  thought  almost  de- 
stroys my  reason.  When  1  hear  that  you  are  going 
to  be  married,  I  feel  murder  in  my  heart.  You  must 
forgive  me,  Suzanne." 

He  paused.  The  young  girl  murmured  half  sadly, 
half  gaily:  "It  is  a  pity  that  you  are  married;  but 
what  can  you  do?     It  cannot  be  helped." 

He  turned  toward  her  abruptly  and  said:  "If  1 
were  free  would  ya^  marry  me?" 

She  replied:  "Yes,  Bel-Ami,  1  would  marry  you 
because  I  love  you  better  than  any  of  the  others." 

He  rose  and  stammering:  "Thanks  —  thanks  — 
do  not,  I  implore  you,  say  yes  to  anyone.  Wait 
a  while.     Promise  me." 

Somewhat  confused,  and  without  comprehending 
what  he  asked,  she  whispered:     "1  promise." 

Du  Roy  threw  a  large  piece  of  bread  into  the 
water  and  fled,  without  saying  adieu,  as  if  he  were 
beside  himself.  Suzanne,  in  surprise,  returned  to  the 
salon. 

When  Du  Roy  arrived  home,  he  asked  Madeleine, 
who  was  writing  letters:  "Shall  you  dine  at  the 
Walters'  Friday?    I  am  going." 


190 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


She  hesitated:  "No,  I  am  not  well,  I  prefer  to 
remain  here." 

"As  you  like.  No  one  will  force  you."  Then  he 
took  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

For  some  time  he  had  watched  and  followed  her, 
knowing  all  her  actions.  The  time  he  had  awaited 
had  come  at  length. 

On  Friday  he  dressed  early,  in  order,  as  he  said, 
to  make  several  calls  before  going  to  M.  Walter's. 
At  about  six  o'clock,  after  having  kissed  his  wife,  he 
went  in  search  of  a  cab.  He  said  to  the  cabman: 
"You  can  stop  at  No.  17  Rue  Fontaine,  and  remain 
there  until  1  order  you  to  go  on.  Then  you  can 
take  me  to  the  restaurant  Du  Coq-Faisan,  Rue  La- 
fayette." 

The  cab  rolled  slowly  on;  Du  Roy  lowered  the 
shades.  When  in  front  of  his  house,  he  kept  watch 
of  it.  After  waiting  ten  minutes,  he  saw  Madeleine 
come  out  and  go  toward  the  boulevards.  When  she 
was  out  of  earshot,  he  put  his  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  cried:  "Go  on!" 

The  cab  proceeded  on  its  way  and  stopped  at  the 
Coq-Faisan.  Georges  entered  the  dining-room  and 
ate  slowly,  looking  at  his  watch  from  time  to  time. 
At  seven-thirty  he  left  and  drove  to  Rue  La  Roche- 
foucauld. He  mounted  to  the  third  story  of  a  house 
in  that  street,  and  asked  the  maid  who  opened  the 
door:  "Is  M.  Guibert  de  Lorme  at  home?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  and  after 
waiting  some  time,  a  tall  man  with  a  military  bear- 
ing and  gray  hair  entered.  He  was  the  police  com- 
missioner. 


BEL. AMI 


191 


Du  Roy  bowed,  then  said:  "As  I  suspected,  my 
wife  is  with  her  lover  in  furnished  apartments  they 
have  rented  on  Rue   des  Martyrs." 

The  magistrate  bowed:  "I  am  at  your  service, 
sir." 

"Very  well,  I  have  a  cab  below."  And  with 
three  other  officers  they  proceeded  to  the  house  in 
which  Du  Roy  expected  to  surprise  his  wife.  One 
officer  remained  at  the  door  to  watch  the  exit;  on  the 
second  floor  they  halted;  Du  Roy  rang  the  bell  and 
they  waited.  In  two  or  three  minutes  Georges  rang 
again  several  times  in  succession.  They  heard  a  light 
step  approach,  and  a  woman's  voice,  evidently  dis- 
guised, asked: 

"Who  is  there?" 

The  police  officer  replied:  "Open  in  the  name  of 
the  law." 

The  voice  repeated:  "Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  the  police  commissioner.  Open,  or  1  will 
force  the  door." 

The  voice  continued:  "What  do  you  want?" 

Du  Roy  interrupted:  "It  is  I;  it  is  useless  to  try 
to  escape  us." 

The  footsteps  receded  and  then  returned.  Georges 
said:  "  If  you  do  not   open,  we  will  force  the  door." 

Receiving  no  reply  he  shook  the  door  so  violently 
that  the  old  lock  gave  way,  and  the  young  man 
almost  fell  over  Madeleine,  who  was  standing  in  the 
antechamber  in  her  petticoat,  her  hair  loosened,  her 
feet  bare,  and  a  candle  in  her  hand. 

He  exclaimed:  "It  is  she.  We  have  caught 
them,"  and  he  rushed  into  the  room.  The  commis- 
sioner turned  to   Madeleine,  who    had   followed   them 


192 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


through  the  rooms,  in  one  of  which  v/ere  the  rem- 
nants of  a  supper,  and  looking  into  her  eyes  said: 
"You  are  Mme.  Claire  Madeleine  du  Roy,  lawful 
wife  of  M.  Prosper  Georges    du  Roy,  here   present  ?  " 

She  replied:   "Yes,  sir." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

She  made  no  reply.  The  officer  repeated  his 
question;  still  she  did  not  reply.  He  waited  several 
moments  and  then  said:  "If  you  do  not  confess, 
Madame,  I  shall  be  forced  to  inquire  into  the  mat- 
ter." 

They  could  see  a  man's  form  concealed  beneath 
the  covers  of  the  bed.  Du  Roy  advanced  softly  and 
uncovered  the  livid  face  of  M.  Laroche-Mathieu. 

The  officer  again  asked:  "Who  are  you?" 

As  the  man  did  not  reply,  he  continued:  "I  am 
the  police  commissioner  and  1  call  upon  you  to  tell 
me  your  name.  If  you  do  not  answer,  I  shall  be 
forced  to  arrest  you.  In  any  case,  rise.  I  will  inter- 
rogate you  when  you  are  dressed." 

In  the  meantime  Madeleine  had  regained  her  com- 
posure, and  seeing  that  all  was  lost,  she  was  deter- 
mined to  put  a  brave  face  upon  the  matter.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  with  the  audacity  of  bravado,  and  taking  a 
piece  of  paper  she  lighted  the  ten  candles  in  the 
candelabra  as  if  for  a  reception.  That  done,  she 
leaned  against  the  mantelpiece,  took  a  cigarette  out 
of  a  case,  and  began  to  smoke,  seeming  not  to  see 
her  husband. 

In  the  meantime  the  man  in  the  bed  had  dressed 
himself  and  advanced.  The  officer  turned  to  him: 
"Now,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  who  you  are?" 

He  made  no  reply. 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


'93 


"I  see  I  shall  have  to  arrest  you." 

Then  the  man  cried:  "Do  not  touch  me.  I  am 
inviolable." 

Du  Roy  rushed  toward  him  exclaiming:  "I  can 
have  you  arrested  if  I  want  to!"  Then  he  added: 
"This  man's  name  is  Laroche-Mathieu,  minister  of 
foreign  affairs." 

The  officer  retreated  and  stammered:  "Sir,  will 
you  tell  me  who  you  are.?" 

"For  once  that  miserable  fellow  has  not  lied.  I 
am  indeed  Laroche-Mathieu,  minister,"  and  pointing 
to  Georges'  breast,  he  added,  "and  that  scoundrel 
wears  upon  his  coat  the  cross  of  honor  which  I  gave 
him." 

Du  Roy  turned  pale.  With  a  rapid  gesture  he 
tore  the  decoration  from  his  buttonhole  and  throwing 
it  in  the  fire  exclaimed:  "That  is  what  a  decoration 
is  worth  which  is  given  by  a  scoundrel  of  your 
order." 

The  commissioner  stepped  between  them,  as  they 
stood  face  to  face,  saying:  "Gentlemen,  you  forget 
yourselves  and  your  dignity." 

Madeleine  smoked  on  calmly,  a  smile  hovering 
about  her  lips.  The  officer  continued:  "Sir,  1  have 
surprised  you  alone  with  Mme.  du  Roy  under  sus- 
picious circumstances;  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"Nothing;  do  your  duty." 

The  commissioner  turned  to  Madeleine:  "  Do  you 
confess,  Madame,  that  this  gentleman  is  your  lover?" 

She  replied  boldly:  "I  do  not  deny  it.  That  is 
sufficient." 

The  magistrate  made  several  notes;  when  he  had 
finished  writing,  the  minister,  who  stood  ready,  coat 

7   G.  deM.— 1) 


i(^4  WORKS   OF   GUY   D£   MAUPASSANT 

upon  arm,  hat  in  hand,  asked:  "Do  you  need  me 
any  longer,  sir?    Can  I  go?" 

Du  Roy  addressed  him  with  an  insolent  smile: 
"Why  should  yoii  go,  we  have  finished;  we  will 
leave  you  alone  together."  Then,  taking  the  officer's 
arm,  he  said:  "Let  us  go,  sir;  we  have  nothing  more 
to  do  in  this  place." 

An  hour  later  Georges  du  Roy  entered  the  office 
of  "La  Vie  Fran^aise."  M.  Walter  was  there;  he 
raised  his  head  and  asked:  "What,  are  you  here? 
Why  are  you  not  dining  at  my  house?  Where  have 
you  come  from  ?" 

Georges  replied  with  emphasis:"!  have  just  found 
out  something  about  the  minister  of  foreign  affairs." 

"What?"' 

"I  found  him  alone  with  my  wife  in  hired  apart- 
ments. The  commissioner  of  police  was  my  witness. 
The  minister  is  ruined." 

"Are  you  not  jesting?" 

"No.  1  am  not.     1  shall  even  write  an  article  on  it." 

"What  is  your  object?" 

"To  overthrow  that  wretch,  that  public  male- 
factor." 

Georges  placed  his  hat  upon  a  chair  and  added: 
"Woe  to  those  whom  1  find  in  my  path.  I  never 
pardon." 

The  manager  stammered:     "But  your  wife?" 

"I  shall  apply  for  a  divorce  at  once." 

"A  divorce?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  master  of  the  situation.  I  shall  be 
free.  I  have  a  stated  income.  I  shall  offer  myself  as 
a  candidate  in  October  in  my  native  district,  where  I 
am   known.     1   could  not  win  any  respect  were  I  to 


BEL-AMI 


195 


be  hampered  with  a  wife  whose  honor  was  sullied. 
She  took  me  for  a  simpleton,  but  since  I  have  known 
her  game,  I  have  watched  her,  and  now  I  shall  get 
on,  for  I  shall  be  free." 

Georges  rose. 

"I  will  write  the  item;  it  must  be  handled  pru- 
dently." 

The  old  man  hesitated,  then  said:  "Do  so:  it 
serves  those  right  who  are  caught  in  such  scrapes." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


The   Final  Plot 


HREE  months  had  elapsed.     Georges 
du   Roy's   divorce    had    been   ob- 
tained.   His  wife  had  resumed  the 
name  of  Forestier. 
As    the    Walters    were    going    to 
Trouville  on  the  fifteenth  of  July,  they 
decided  to   spend   a  day  in  the  country 
before  starting. 

The  day  chosen  was  Thursday,  and  they 
set  out  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  in 
'^W  a  large  six-seated  carriage  drawn  by  four 
^^  horses.  They  were  going  to  lunch  at  Saint- 
i^  Germain.  Bel-Ami  had  requested  that  he  might 
^  be  the  only  young  man  in  the  party,  for  he  could 
not  bear  the  presence  of  the  Marquis  de  Cazolles. 
At  the  last  moment,  however,  it  was  decided  that 
Count  de  Latour-lvelin  should  go,  for  he  and  Rose 
had  been  betrothed  a  month.  The  day  was  delight- 
ful. Georges,  who  was  very  pale,  gazed  at  Suzanne 
as  they  sat  in  the  carriage   and  their  eyes  met. 

Mme.    Walter    was    contented    and     happy.     The 
luncheon  was  a  long  and  merry  one.      Before  leaving 
(196) 


BEL- AMI 


197 


for  Paris,  Du  Roy  proposed  a  walk  on  the  terrace. 
The}'  stopped  on  the  way  to  admire  the  view;  as 
they  passed  on,  Georges  and  Suzanne  lingered  be- 
hind. The  former  whispered  softly:  "Suzanne,  I  love 
you  madly." 

She  whispered  in  return:  "I  love  you  too,  Bel- 
Ami." 

He  continued:  "  If  I  cannot  have  you  for  my  wife, 
I  shall  leave  the  country." 

She  replied:  "Ask  papa.  Perhaps  he  will  con- 
sent." 

He  answered  impatiently:  "No,  I  repeat  that  it  is 
useless;  the  door  of  the  house  would  be  closed  against 
me.  I  would  lose  my  position  on  the  journal,  and 
we  would  not  even  meet.  Those  are  the  conse- 
quences a  formal  proposal  would  produce.  They  have 
promised  you  to  the  Marquis  de  Cazolles;  they  hope 
you  will  finally  say  'yes'  and  they  are  waiting." 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"Have  you  the  courage  to  brave  your  father  and 
mother  for  my  sake?" 

'*Yes." 

"Truly?" 

"Yes." 

"Well!  There  is  only  one  way.  It  must  come 
from  you  and  not  from  me.  You  are  an  indulged 
child;  they  let  you  say  anything  and  are  not  surprised 
at  any  audacity  on  your  part.  Listen,  then!  This 
evening  on  returning  home,  go  to  your  mother  first, 
and  tell  her  that  you  want  to  marry  me.  She  will 
be  very  much  agitated  and  very  angry." 

Suzanne  interrupted  him:  "Oh,  mamma  would 
be  glad." 


198  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  replied  quickly:  "No,  no,  you  do  not  know 
her.  She  will  be  more  vexed  than  your  father.  But 
you  must  insist,  you  must  not  yield;  you  must  repeat 
that  you  will  marry  me  and  me  alone.  Will  you  do 
so?" 

"I  will." 

*'  And  on  leaving  your  mother,  repeat  the  same 
thing  to  your  father  very  decidedly." 

"Well,  and  then  —  " 

"And  then  matters  will  reach  a  climax!  If  you 
are  determined  to  be  my  wife,  my  dear,  dear,  little 
Suzanne,  I  will  elope  with  you." 

She  clapped  her  hands,  as  all  the  charming  adven- 
tures in  the  romances  she  had  read  occurred  to  her, 
and  cried: 

"Oh,  what  bliss!  When  will  you  elope  with 
me?" 

He  whispered  very  low:     "To-night!" 

"Where  shall  we  go?" 

"That  is  my  secret.     Think  well  of  what  you  are 
doing.     Remember  that  after  that  flight  you  must  be- 
come my  wife.     It  is  the  only  means,  but  it  is  danger- 
ous—  very  dangerous  —  for  you." 

"I  have  decided.     Where  shall  1  meet  you?" 

"Meet  me  about  midnight  in  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde." 

"I  will  be  there." 

He  clasped  her  hand.  "Oh,  how  I  love  you! 
How  brave  and  good  you  are!  Then  you  do  not 
want  to  marry  Marquis  de  Cazolles?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

Mme.  Walter,  turning  her  head,  called  out:  "Come, 
little  one;  wliat  arc  you  and  Bel-Ami  doing?" 


B  E  L  -  A  M  1 


199 


They  rejoined  the  others  and  returned  by  way  of 
Chatou.  When  the  carriage  arrived  at  the  door  of 
the  mansion,  Mme.  Walter  pressed  Georges  to  dine 
with  them,  but  he  refused,  and  returned  home  to 
look  over  his  papers  and  destroy  any  compromising 
letters.  Then  he  repaired  in  a  cab  with  feverish 
haste  to  the  place  of  meeting.  He  waited  there  some 
time,  and  thinking  his  ladylove  had  played  him 
false,  he  was  about  to  drive  off,  when  a  gentle  voice 
wiiispered  at  the  door  of  his  cab:  "Are  you  there, 
Bel-Ami?" 

"Is  it  you,  Suzanne  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah,  get  in."  She  entered  the  cab  and  he  bade 
the  cabman  drive  on. 

He  asked:     "Well,  how  did  it  all  pass  off?" 

She  murmured  faintly: 

"Oh,  it  was  terrible,  with  mamma  especially." 

"Your  mamma?    What  did  she  say?    Tell  me!" 

"Oh,  it  was  frightful!  I  entered  her  room  and 
made  the  little  speech  I  had  prepared.  She  turned 
pale  and  cried:  'Never!'  I  wept,  1  protested  that  I 
would  marry  only  you;  she  was  like  a  mad  woman; 
she  vowed  I  should  be  sent  to  a  convent.  1  never 
saw  her  like  that,  never.  Papa,  hearing  her  agitated 
words,  entered.  He  was  not  as  angry  as  she  was, 
but  he  said  you  were  not  a  suitable  match  for  me. 
As  they  had  vexed  me,  I  talked  louder  than  they,  and 
papa  with  a  dramatic  air  bade  me  leave  the  room. 
That  decided  me  to  fly  with  you.  And  here  I  am; 
where  shall  we  go?" 

He  replied,  encircling  her  waist  with  his  arm:  "It 
is  too  late  to  take  the  train;   this  cab  will  take  us  to 


200  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Sevres  where  we  can  spend  the  night,  and  to-mor- 
row we  will  leave  for  La  Roche-Guyon.  It  is  a  pretty 
village  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine  between  Mantes  and 
Bonnieres." 

The  cab  rolled  on.  Georges  took  the  young  girl's 
hand  and  kissed  it  respectfully.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  say  to  her,  being  unaccustomed  to  Platonic 
affection.  Suddenly  he  perceived  that  she  was  weep- 
ing.    He  asked  in  affright: 

"What  ails  you,  my  dear  little  one?" 

She  replied  tearfully:  "I  was  thinking  that  poor 
mamma  could  not  sleep  if  she  had  found  out  that  I 
was  gone!" 

******* 

Her  mother  indeed  was  not  asleep. 

When  Suzanne  left  the  room,  Mme.  Walter  turned 
to  her  husband  and  asked  in  despair:  "What  does 
that  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  that  that  intriguer  has  influenced  her. 
It  is  he  who  has  made  her  refuse  Cazolles.  You  have 
flattered  and  cajoled  him,  too.  It  was  Bel-Ami  here, 
Bel-Ami  there,  from  morning  until  night.  Now  you 
are  paid  for  it!" 

"Yes,  you.  You  are  as  much  infatuated  with  him 
as  Madeleine,  Suzanne,  and  the  rest  of  them.  Do  you 
think  that  I  did  not  see  that  you  could  not  exist  for 
two  days  without  him  ?  " 

She  rose  tragically:  "I  will  not  allow  you  to  speak 
to  me  thus.  You  forget  that  I  was  not  brought  up 
like  you,  in  a  shop." 

With  an  oath,  he  left  the  room,  banging  the  door 
behind  him. 


BEL.  A  MI  2or 

When  he  was  gone,  she  thought  over  all  that  had 
taken  place.  Suzanne  was  in  love  with  Bel-Ami,  and 
Bel-Ami  wanted  to  marry  Suzanne!  No,  it  was  not 
true!  She  was  mistaken;  he  would  not  be  capable  of 
such  an  action;  he  knew  nothing  of  Suzanne's  esca- 
pade. They  would  take  Suzanne  away  for  six  months 
and  that  would  end  it. 

She  rose,  saying:  "I  cannot  rest  in  this  uncer- 
tainty. I  shall  lose  my  reason.  1  will  arouse  Suzanne 
and  question  her." 

She  proceeded  to  her  daughter's  room.  She  en- 
tered; it  was  empty;  the  bed  had  not  been  slept  in. 
A  horrible  suspicion  possessed  her  and  she  flew  to 
her  husband.     He  was  in  bed,  reading. 

She  gasped:     "Have  you  seen  Suzanne?" 

"No  — why?" 

"She  is  —  gone!  she  is  not  in  her  room." 

With  one  bound  he  was  out  of  bed;  he  rushed  to 
his  daughter's  room;  not  finding  her  there,  he  sank 
into  a  chair.     His  wife  had  followed  him. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

He  had  not  the  strength  to  reply:  he  was  no  longer 
^ngry;  he  groaned:    "He  has  her  —  we  are  lost." 

"Lost,  how?" 

"Why, he  must  marry  her  now!" 

She  cried  wildly:  "Marry  her,  never!  Are  you 
mad?" 

He  replied  sadly:  "It  will  do  no  good  to  yell! 
He  has  disgraced  her.  The  best  thing  to  be  done  is 
to  give  her  to  him,  and  at  once,  too;  then  no  one 
will  know  of  this  escapade." 

She  repeated  in  great  agitation:  "Never;  he  shall 
never  have  Suzanne." 


202  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

Overcome,  Walter  murmured:  "But  he  has  her. 
And  he  will  keep  her  as  long  as  we  do  not  yield; 
therefore,  to  avoid  a  scandal  we  must  do  so  at  once." 

But  his  wife  replied:  "No,  no,  I  will  never  con- 
sent." 

Impatiently  he  returned:  "It  is  a  matter  of  neces- 
sity. Ah,  the  scoundrel  —  how  he  has  deceived  us! 
But  he  is  shrewd  at  any  rate.  She  might  have  done 
better  as  far  as  position,  but  not  intelligence  and 
future,  is  concerned.  He  is  a  promising  young  man. 
He  will  be  a  deputy  or  a  minister  some  day." 

Mme.  Walter,  however,  repeated  wildly:  "I  will 
never  let  him  marry  Suzanne!    Do  you  hear  —  neverl" 

In  his  turn  he  became  incensed,  and  like  a  prac- 
tical man  defended  Bel-Ami.  "Be  silent!  I  tell  you 
he  must  marry  her!  And  who  knows?  Perhaps 
we  shall  not  regret  it!  With  men  of  his  stamp 
one  never  knows  what  may  come  about.  You  saw 
how  he  downed  Laroche-Mathieu  in  three  articles, 
and  that  v/ith  a  dignity  which  was  very  difficult  to 
maintain  in  his  position  as  husband.  So,  we  shall 
see." 

Mme.  Walter  felt  a  desire  to  cry  aloud  and  tear 
her  hair.  But  she  only  repeated  angrily:  "He  shall 
not  have  her! " 

Walter  rose,  took  up  his  lamp,  and  said:  "You 
are  silly,  like  all  women!  You  only  act  on  impulse. 
You  do  not  know  how  to  accommodate  yourself  to 
circumstances.  You  are  stupid!  I  tell  you  he  shall 
marry  her;  it  is  essential."    And  he  left  the  room. 

Mme.  Walter  remained  alone  with  her  suffering, 
her  despair.  If  only  a  priest  were  at  hand!  She 
would    cast    herself  at    his  feet    and    confess    all    her 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I  203 

errors  and  her  agony  —  he  would  prevent  the  mar- 
riage! Where  could  she  find  a  priest?  Where  should 
she  turn?  Before  her  eyes  floated,  hke  a  vision,  ihe 
calm  face  of  "Christ  Walking  on  the  Water,"  as  she  had 
seen  it  in  the  painting.  He  seemed  to  say  to  her: 
"Come  unto  Me.  Kneel  at  My  feet.  I  will  comfort 
and  instruct  you  as  to  what  to  do." 

She  took  the  lamp  and  sought  the  conservatory; 
she  opened  the  door  leading  into  the  room  which 
held  the  enormous  canvas,  and  fell  upon  her  knees 
before  it.  At  first  she  prayed  fervently,  but  as  she 
raised  her  eyes  and  saw  the  resemblance  to  Bel-Ami, 
she  murmured:  "Jesus — Jesus  —  "  while  her  thoughts 
were  with  her  daughter  and  her  lover.  She  uttered 
a  wild  cry,  as  she  pictured  them  together — alone  — 
and  fell  into  a  swoon.  When  day  broke  they  found 
Mme.  Walter  still  lying  unconscious  before  the  paint- 
ing. She  was  so  ill,  after  that,  that  her  life  was  almost 
despaired  of. 

M.  Walter  explained  his  daughter's  absence  to  the 
servants  by  saying  to  them  that  she  had  been  sent 
to  a  convent  for  a  short  time.  Then  he  replied  to  a 
long  letter  from  Du  Roy,  giving  his  consent  to  his 
marriage  with  his  daughter.  Bel-Ami  had  posted  that 
epistle  when  he  left  Paris,  having  prepared  it  the 
night  of  his  departure.  In  it  he  said  in  respectful 
terms  that  he  had  loved  the  young  girl  a  long  time; 
that  there  had  never  been  any  understanding  between 
them,  but  that  as  she  came  to  him  to  say:  "1  will  be 
your  wife,"  he  felt  authorized  in  keeping  her,  in  hid- 
ing her,  in  fact,  until  he  had  obtained  a  reply  from 
her  parents,  whose  wishes  were  to  him  of  more  value 
than  those  of  his  betrothed. 


204 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Georges  and  Suzanne  spent  a  week  at  La  Roche- 
Guyon.  Never  had  the  young  girl  enjoyed  herself  so 
thoroughly.  As  she  passed  for  his  sister,  they  lived 
in  a  chaste  and  free  intimacy,  a  kind  of  loving  com- 
panionship. He  thought  it  wiser  to  treat  her  with 
respect,  and  when  he  said  to  her:  "We  will  return 
to  Paris  to-morrow;  your  father  has  bestowed  your 
hand  upon  me,"  she  whispered  naively:  "Already.? 
This  is  just  as  pleasant  as   being  your  wife." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


Attainment 


T  WAS    dark    in   the     apartments    in 

the    Rue    de    Constantinople,    when 

Georges    du    Roy    and    Clotilde   de 

Marelle,  having    met    at    the    door, 

entered  them.     Without  giving  him 

time  to    raise   the   shades,  the  latter 

said: 

"So  you  are  going  to  marry  Suzanne 

Walter?" 

He  replied  in  the  affirmative,  adding 
ntly:  "Did  you  not  know  it?" 
She  answered  angrily:  "So  you  are 
going  to  marry  Suzanne  Walter?  For  three 
months  you  have  deceived  me.  Everyone 
knew  of  it  but  me.  My  husband  told  me.  Since 
you  left  your  wife  you  have  been  preparing  for  that 
stroke,  and  you  made  use  of  me  in  the  interim. 
What  a  rascal  you  are!" 

He  asked:  "How  do  you  make  that  out?  I  had 
a  wife  who  deceived  me;  I  surprised  her,  obtained  a 
divorce,  and  am  now  going  to  marry  another.  What 
is  more  simple  than  that?" 

She  murmured:     "What  a  villain!" 

(>05) 


2o6  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  said  with  dignity;  "I  beg  of  you  to  be  more 
careful  as  to  what  you  say." 

She  rebelled  at  such  words  from  him:  "What! 
Would  you  like  me  to  nandle  you  with  gloves?  You 
have  conducted  yourself  like  a  rascal  ever  since  I 
have  known  you,  and  now  you  do  not  want  me  to 
speak  of  it.  You  deceive  everyone;  you  gather  pleas- 
ure and  money  everywhere,  and  you  want  me  to 
treat  you  as  an  honest  man." 

He  rose;  his  lips  twitched:  "Be  silent  or  I  will 
make  you  leave  these  rooms." 

She  cried:  "Leave  here  —  you  will  make  me  — 
you?  You  forget  that  it  is  I  who  have  paid  for 
these  apartments  from  the  very  first,  and  you  threaten 
to  put  me  out  of  them.  Be  silent,  good-for-nothing  I 
Do  you  think  1  do  not  know  how  you  stole  a  por- 
tion of  Vaudrec's  bequest  from  Madeleine  ?  Do  you 
think  I  do  not  know  about  Suzanne?" 

He  seized  her  by  her  shoulders  and  shook  her. 
"Do  not  speak  of  that;   I  forbid  you." 

"I  know  you  have  ruined  her!" 

He  would  have  taken  anything  else,  but  that  lie 
tsxasperated  him.  He  repeated:  "Be  silent  —  take 
care" —  and  he  shook  her  as  he  would  have  shaken  the 
bough  of  a  tree.  Still  she  continued:  "You  were 
her  ruin,  I  know  it."  He  rushed  upon  her  and 
struck  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  man.  Suddenly  she 
ceased  speaking,  and  groaned  beneath  his  blows. 
Finally  he  desisted,  paced  the  room  several  times  in 
order  to  regain  his  self-possession,  entered  the  bed- 
room, filled  the  basin  with  cold  water  and  bathed 
his  head.  Then  he  washed  his  hands  and  returned 
to     see    what    Clotilde     was    doing.      She     had    not 


B  E  L  -  A  M  I 


207 


moved.  She  lay  upon  the  floor  weeping  softly.  He 
asked  harshly: 

"Will  you  soon  have  done  crying?" 

She  did  not  reply.  He  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  somewhat  embarrassed,  somewhat  ashamed,  as 
he  saw  the  form  lying  before  him.  Suddenly  he 
seized  his  hat.  "Good  evening.  You  can  leave  the 
key  with  the  janitor  when  you  are  ready.  I  will  not 
await  your  pleasure." 

He  left  the  room,  closed  the  door,  sought  the 
porter,  and  said  to  him:  "Madame  is  resting.  She 
will  go  out  soon.  You  can  tell  the  proprietor  that  I 
have  given  notice  for  the  first  of  October." 

His  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  twentieth;  it  was 
to  take  place  at  the  Madeleine.  There  had  been  a 
great  deal  of  gossip  about  the  entire  affair,  and  many 
different  reports  were  circulated.  Mme.  Walter  had 
aged  greatly;  her  hair  was  gray  and  she  sought 
solace   in   religion. 

In  the  early  part  of  September  "La  Vie  Fran^aise" 
announced  that  Baron  du  Roy  de  Cantel  had  become 
its  chief  editor,  M.  Walter  reserving  the  title  of  mana- 
ger. To  that  announcement  were  subjoined  the 
names  of  the  staff  of  art  and  theatrical  critics,  polit- 
ical reporters,  and  so  forth.  Journalists  no  longer 
sneered  in  speaking  of  "La  Vie  Fran^aise;"  its  suc- 
cess had  been  rapid  and  complete.  The  marriage  of 
its  chief  editor  was  what  was  called  a  "Parisian 
event,"  Georges  du  Roy  and  the  Walters  having 
occasioned  much  comment  for  some  time. 

The  ceremony  took  place  on  a  clear,  autumn  day. 
At  ten  o'clock  the  curious  began  to  assemble;  at 
eleven  o'clock,  detachments  of  officers   came   to    dis- 


2o8  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

perse  the  crowd.  Soon  after,  the  first  guests  arrived  ; 
they  were  followed  by  others,  women  in  rich  cos- 
tumes, men,  grave  and  dignified.  The  church  slowly 
began  to  fill.  Norbert  de  Varenne  espied  Jacques 
Rival,  and  joined  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,   "sharpers  always  succeed." 

His  companion,  who  was  not  envious,  replied  : 
"So  much  the  better  for  him.     His  fortune  is  made." 

Rival  asked:  "Do  you  know  what  has  become 
of  his  wife?" 

The  poet  smiled.  "Yes  and  no  —  she  lives  a  very 
retired  life,  I  have  been  told,  in  the  Montmartre 
quarter.  But  —  there  is  a  but  —  for  some  time  I  have 
read  political  articles  in  'La  Plume,'  which  resemble 
those  of  Forestier  and  Du  Roy.  They  are  supposed 
to  be  written  by  a  Jean  Le  Dol,  a  young,  intelligent, 
handsome  man — something  like  our  friend  Georges 
—  who  has  become  acquainted  with  Mme.  Forestier. 
From  that  I  have  concluded  that  she  likes  beginners 
and  that  they  like  her.  She  is,  moreover,  rich ; 
Vaudrec  and  Laroche-Mathieu  were  not  attentive  to 
her  for  nothing.  " 

Rival  asked  :  "Tell  me,  is  it  true  that  Mme.  Wal- 
ter and  Du  Roy  do  not  speak?" 

"Yes.  She  did  not  wish  to  give  him  her  daugh- 
ter's hand.  But  he  threatened  the  old  man  with 
shocking  revelations.  Walter  remembered  Laroche- 
Mathieu's  fate  and  yielded  at  once  ;  but  his  wife,  ob- 
stinate like  all  women,  vowed  that  she  would  never 
address  a  word  to  her  son-in-law,  it  is  comical  to 
see  them  together  !  She  looks  like  the  statue  of 
vengeance,  and  he  is  very  uncomfortable,  although  he 
tries  to  appear  at  his  ease.  " 


BEL- AMI 


209 


Suddenly  the  beadle  struck  the  floor  three  times 
with  his  staff.  All  the  people  turned  to  see  what 
was  corning,  and  the  young  bride  appeared  in  the 
doorway  leaning  upon  her  father's  arm.  She  looked 
like  a  beautiful  doll,  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  orange 
blossoms.  She  advanced  with  bowed  head.  The 
ladies  smiled  and  murmured  as  she  passed  them. 
The  men  whispered: 

"Exquisite,  adorable!" 

M.  Walter  walked  by  her  side  with  exaggerated 
Jignity.  Behind  them  came  four  maids  of  honor 
dressed  in  pink  and  forming  a  charming  court  for  so 
dainty  a  queen. 

Mme.  Walter  followed  on  the  arm  of  Count  de 
Latour-lvelin's  aged  father.  She  did  not  walk;  she 
dragged  herself  along,  ready  to  faint  at  every  step. 
She  had  aged  and  grown  thinner. 

Next  came  Georges  du  Roy  with  an  old  lady,  a 
stranger.  He  held  his  head  proudly  erect  and  wore 
upon  his  coat,  like  a  drop  of  blood,  the  red  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

He  was  followed  by  the  relatives:  Rose,  who  had 
been  married  six  weeks,  with  a  senator;  Count  de 
Latour-lvelin  with  Viscountess  de  Percemur.  Follow- 
ing them  was  a  motley  procession  of  associates  and 
friends  of  Du  Roy,  country  cousins  of  Mme.  Walter's, 
and  guests  invited  by  her  husband. 

The  tones  of  the  organ  filled  the  church;  the  large 
doors  at  the  entrance  were  closed,  and  Georges 
kneeled  beside  his  bride  in  the  choir.  The  new 
bishop  of  Tangiers,  cross  in  hand,  miter  on  head, 
entered  from  the  sacristy,  to  unite  them  in  the  name 
of  the  Almighty.     He  asked  the  usual  questions,  rings 

7    G.  de  M. — 14 


210  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

were  exchanged,  words  pronounced  which  bound 
them  forever,  and  then  he  delivered  an  address  to  the 
newly  married  couple. 

The  sound  of  stifled  sobs  caused  several  to  turn 
their  heads.  Mme.  Walter  was  weeping,  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands.  She  had  been  obliged  to  yield; 
but  since  the  day  on  which  she  had  told  Du  Roy: 
"You  are  the  vilest  man  I  know;  never  speak  to  me 
again,  for  I  will  not  answer  you,"  she  had  suffered 
intolerable  anguish.  She  hated  Suzanne  bitterly;  her 
hatred  was  caused  by  unnatural  jealousy.  The  bishop 
was  marrying  a  daughter  to  her  mother's  lover,  befoie 
her  and  two  thousand  persons,  and  she  could  say 
nothing;  she  could  not  stop  him.  She  could  not  cry: 
"He  is  mine,  that  man  is  my  lover.  That  union  you 
are  blessing  is  infamous." 

Several  ladies,  touched  by  her  apparent  grief,  mur- 
mured: "How  affected  that  poor  mother  is!" 

The  bishop  said:  "You  are  among  the  favored  ones 
of  the  earth.  You,  sir,  who  are  raised  above  others 
by  your  talent  —  you  who  write,  instruct,  counsel, 
guide  the  people,  have  a  grand  mission  to  fulfill  —  a 
fine  example  to  set." 

Du  Roy  listened  to  him  proudly.  A  prelate  of  the 
Roman  Church  spoke  thus  to  him.  A  number  of  il- 
lustrious people  had  come  thither  on  his  account.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  an  invisible  power  was  impelling 
him  on.  He  would  become  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
country  —  he,  the  son  of  the  poor  peasants  of  Can- 
teleu.  He  had  given  his  parents  five  thousand  francs 
of  Count  de  Vaudrec's  fortune  and  he  intended  send- 
ing them  fifty  thousand  more;  then  they  could  buy  a 
small  estate  and  live  happily. 


BEL-AMI  211 

The  bishop  had  finished  his  harangue,  a  priest 
ascended  the  altar,  and  the  organ  pealed  forth.  Sud- 
denly the  vibrating  tones  melted  into  delicate,  melo- 
dious ones,  like  the  songs  of  birds;  then  again  they 
swelled  into  deep,  full  tones  and  human  voices  chanted 
over  their  bowed  heads.  Vauri  and  Landeck  of  the 
Opera  were  singing. 

Bel-Ami,  kneeling  beside  Suzanne,  bowed  his  head. 
At  that  moment  he  felt  almost  pious,  for  he  was 
filled  with  gratitude  for  the  blessings  showered  upon 
him.  Without  knowing  just  whom  he  was  address- 
ing, he  offered  up  thanks  for  his  success.  When  the 
ceremony  was  over,  he  rose,  and,  giving  his  arm  to 
his  wife,  they  passed  into  the  sacristy.  A  stream  of 
people  entered.  Georges  fancied  himself  a  king  whom 
the  people  were  coming  to  greet.  He  shook  hands, 
uttered  words  which  signified  nothing,  and  replied  to 
congratulations  with  the  words:  "You  are  very  kind." 

Suddenly  he  saw  Mme.  de  Marelle,  and  the  recol- 
lection of  all  the  kisses  he  had  given  her  and  which 
she  had  returned,  of  all  their  caresses,  of  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  possessed  him  with  the  mad  desire  to 
regain  her.  She  was  so  pretty,  with  her  bright  eyes 
and  roguish  air!  She  advanced  somewhat  timidly 
and  offered  him  her  hand.  He  took,  retained,  and 
pressed  it  as  if  to  say:  "I  shall  love  you  always,  I 
am  yours." 

Their  eyes  met,  smiling,  bright,  full  of  love.  She 
murmured  in  her  soft  tones:  "Until  we  meet  again, 
sir!"  and  he  gaily  repeated  her  words. 

Others  approached,  and  she  passed  on.  Finally  the 
throng  dispersed.  Georges  placed  Suzanne's  hand 
upon  his  arm  to  pass   through   the   church  with   nci. 


212  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

It  was  filled  with  people,  for  all  had  resumed  their 
seats  in  order  to  see  them  leave  the  sacred  edifice  to- 
gether. He  walked  along  slowly,  with  a  firm  step, 
his  head  erect.  He  saw  no  one.  He  only  thought 
of  himself. 

When  they  reached  the  threshold  he  saw  a  crowd 
gathered  outside,  come  to  gaze  at  him,  Georges  du 
Roy.  The  people  of  Paris  envied  him.  Raising  his 
eyes,  he  saw  beyond  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  the 
chamber  of  deputies,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
it  was  only  a  stone's  throw  from  the  portico  of  the 
Madeleine  to  that  of  the  Palais  Bourbon. 

Leisurely  they  descended  the  steps  between  two 
rows  of  spectators,  but  Georges  did  not  see  them; 
his  thoughts  had  returned  to  the  past,  and  before  his 
eyes,  dazzled  by  the  bright  sunlight,  floated  the  im^ 
age  of  Mme.  de  Marelle,  rearranging  the  curly  locks 
upon  her  temples  before  the  mirror  in  their  apart- 
ments. 


AFTER.  THE  ORIGINAL   DRAWING   BY   FERDINAND   BAC 


'  Leisurely  they  descended  the  steps. 


'i^tfyryAe/fiOi^.  If  •/l»/i'r,.V »>,,.. 


YVETTE 


<i) 


YVETTE 

CHAPTER     I . 

The  Initiation  of  Saval 

s  THEY  were  leaving  the  Cafe  Riche, 
Jean  de   Servigny  said  to  Leon  Sa- 
val:    "If  you   don't   object,  let   us 
walk.     The  weather  is  too  fine  to  take 
a  cab." 

His    friend    answered:    "I     would 
like  nothing  better." 

Jean  replied:     "It  is  hardly  eleven 

o'clock.     We    shall    arrive  much  before 

■^^j^  midnight,  so  let  us  go  slowly." 

^^"^       A    restless   crowd   was    moving  along  the 

^  '  boulevard,    that    throng    peculiar     to     summer 

■^      nights,    drinking,    chatting,    and    flowing    like 

^_  a  river,  filled    with   a  sense  of  comfort  and  joy. 

/    Here    and    there    a   caf6  threw  a    flood    of  light 

upon    a    knot    of  patrons    drinking   at    little  tables  on 

the     sidewalk,     which     were     covered     with     bottles 

and    glasses,    hindering   the    passing    of  the    hurrying 

multitude.     On  the  pavement  the  cabs  with  their  red, 

(3) 


A  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

blue,  or  green  lights  dashed  by,  showing  for  a  sec- 
ond, in  the  ghmmer,  the  thin  shadow  of  the  horse, 
the  raised  profile  of  the  coachman,  and  the  dark 
box  of  the  carriage.  The  cabs  of  the  Urbaine  Com- 
pany made  clear  and  rapid  spots  when  their  yellow 
panels  were  struck  by  the  light. 

The  two  friends  walked  with  slow  steps,  cigars 
in  their  mouths,  in  evening  dress  and  overcoats  on 
their  arms,  with  a  flower  in  the>ir  buttonholes,  and 
their  hats  a  trifle  on  one  side,  as  men  will  carelessly 
wear  them  sometimes,  after  they  have  dined  well 
and  the  air  is  mild. 

They  had  been  linked  together  since  their  college 
days  by  a  close,  devoted,  and  firm  affection.  Jean  de 
Servigny,  small,  slender,  a  trifle  bald,  rather  frail,  with 
elegance  of  mien,  curled  mustache,  bright  eyes,  and 
fine  lips,  was  a  man  who  seemed  born  and  bred 
upon  the  boulevard.  He  was  tireless  in  spite  of  his 
languid  air,  strong  in  spite  of  his  pallor,  one  of  those 
slight  Parisians  to  whom  gymnastic  exercise,  fencing, 
cold  shower  and  hot  baths  give  a  nervous,  artificial 
strength.  He  was  known  by  his  marriage  as  well  as 
by  his  wit,  his  fortune,  his  connections,  and  by  that 
sociability,  amiability,  and  fashionable  gallantry  peculiar 
to  certain  men. 

A  true  Parisian,  furthermore,  light,  sceptical, 
changeable,  captivating,  energetic,  and  irresolute, 
capable  of  everything  and  of  nothing;  selfish  by 
principle  and  generous  on  occasion,  he  lived  mod- 
erately upon  his  income,  and  amused  himself  with 
hygiene.  Indifferent  and  passionate,  he  gave  himself 
rein  and  drew  back  constantly,  impelled  by  conflict- 
ing  mstincts,    yielding    to    all.    and    then    obeying,  in 


YVETTE  5 

the  end,  his  own  shrewd  man-about-town  judgment, 
whose  weather-vane  logic  consisted  in  following  the 
wind  and  drawing  profit  from  circumstances  without 
taking  the  trouble  to  originate  them. 

His  companion,  Leon  Saval,  rich  also,  was  one  of 
those  superb  and  colossal  figures  who  make  women 
turn  around  in  the  streets  to  look  at  them.  He  gave 
the  idea  of  a  statue  turned  into  a  man,  a  type  of  a 
race,  like  those  sculptured  forms  which  are  sent  to 
the  Salons.  Too  handsome,  too  tall,  too  big,  too 
strong,  he  sinned  a  little  from  the  excess  of  every- 
thing, the  excess  of  his  qualities.  He  had  on  hand 
countless  affairs  of  passion. 

As  they  reached  the  Vaudeville  theater,  he  asked: 
"Have  you  warned  that  lady  that  you  are  going  to 
take  me  to  her  house  to  see  her?" 

Servigny  began  to  laugh:  "Forewarn  the  Mar- 
quise Obardi!  Do  you  warn  an  omnibus  driver  that 
you  shall  enter  his  stage  at  the  corner  of  the  boule- 
vard?" 

Saval,  a  little  perplexed,  inquired:  "What  sort  of 
person  is  this  lady?" 

His  friend  replied:  "An  upstart,  a  charming 
hussy,  who  came  from  no  one  knows  where,  who 
made  her  appearance  one  day,  nobody  knows  how, 
among  the  adventuresses  of  Paris,  knowing  perfectly 
well  how  to  take  care  of  herself.  Besides,  what  dif- 
ference does  it  make  to  us  ?  They  say  that  her  real 
name,  her  maiden  name — for  she  still  has  every  claim 
to  the  title  of  maiden  except  that  of  innocence  —  is 
Octavia  Bardin,  from  which  she  constructs  the  name 
Obardi  by  prefixing  the  first  letter  of  her  first  name 
and  dropping  the  last  letter  of  the  last  name. 


6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Moreover,  she  is  a  lovable  woman,  and  you, 
from  your  physique,  are  inevitably  bound  to  become 
her  lover.  Hercules  is  not  introduced  into  Messalina's 
home  without  making  some  disturbance.  Neverthe- 
less 1  make  bold  to  add  that  if  there  is  free  entrance 
to  this  house,  just  as  there  is  in  bazaars,  you  are  not 
exactly  compelled  to  buy  what  is  for  sale.  Love  and 
cards  are  on  the  programme,  but  nobody  compels 
you  to  take  up  with  either.  And  the  exit  is  as  free 
as  the  entrance. 

"She  settled  down  in  the  Etoile  district,  a  suspi- 
cious neighborhood,  three  years  ago,  and  opened  her 
drawing-room  to  that  froth  of  the  continents  which 
comes  to  Paris  to  practice  its  various  formidable  and 
criminal  talents. 

"I  don't  remember  just  how  1  went  to  her  house. 
I  went  as  we  all  go,  because  there  is  card  playing, 
because  the  women  are  compliant,  and  the  men  dis- 
honest. I  love  that  social  mob  of  buccaneers  with 
decorations  of  all  sorts  of  orders,  all  titled,  and  all 
entirely  unknown  at  their  embassies,  except  to  the 
spies.  They  are  always  dragging  in  the  subject  of 
honor,  quoting  the  list  of  their  ancestors  on  the 
slightest  provocation,  and  telling  the  story  of  their 
life  at  every  opportunity,  braggarts,  liars,  sharpers, 
dangerous  as  their  cards,  false  as  their  names,  brave 
because  they  have  to  be,  like  the  assassins  who  can 
not  pluck  their  victims  except  by  exposing  their 
own  lives.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  aristocracy  of  the 
bagnio. 

"I  like  them.  They  are  interesting  to  fathom  and 
to  know,  amusing  to  listen  to,  often  witty,  never 
commonplace   as   the   ordinary    French   guests.     Their 


YVETTE  -y 

women  are  always  pretty,  with  a  little  flavor  of  for- 
eign knavery,  with  the  mystery  of  their  past  exist- 
ence, half  of  which,  perhaps,  spent  in  a  House  of 
Correction.  They  generally  have  fine  eyes  and  glo- 
rious hair,  the  true  physique  of  the  profession,  an 
intoxicating  grace,  a  seductiveness  which  drives  men 
to  folly,  an  unwholesome,  irresistible  charm!  They 
conquer  like  the  highwaymen  of  old.  They  are  ra- 
pacious creatures,  true  birds  of  prey.  I  like  them, 
too. 

"The  Marquise  Obardi  is  one  of  the  type  of  these 
elegant  good-for-nothings.  Ripe  and  pretty,  with  a 
feline  charm,  you  can  see  that  she  is  vicious  to  the 
marrow.  Everybody  has  a  good  time  at  her  house, 
with  cards,  dancing,  and  suppers;  in  fact  there  is 
everything  which  goes  to  make  up  the  pleasures  of 
fashionable  society  life." 

"Have  you  ever  been  or  are  you  now  her  lover?" 
Leon  Saval  asked. 

"I  have  not  been  her  lover,  I  am  not  now,  and  I 
never  shall  be.  I  only  go  to  the  house  to  see  her 
daughter." 

"Ah!     She  has  a  daughter,  then?" 

"A  daughter!  A  marvel,  my  dear  man.  She  is 
the  principal  attraction  of  the  den  to-day.  Tall,  mag- 
nificent, just  ripe,  eighteen  years  old,  as  fair  as  her 
mother  is  dark,  always  merry,  always  ready  for  an 
entertainment,  always  laughing,  and  ready  to  dance 
like  mad.  Who  will  be  the  lucky  man  to  capture 
her,  or  who  has  already  done  so  ?  Nobody  can  tell 
that.     She  has  ten  of  us  in  her  train,  all  hoping. 

"Such  a  daughter  in  the  hands  of  a  woman  like 
the  Marquise  is  a   fortune.     And   they  play  the  game 


8  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

together,  the  two  charmers.  No  one  knows  just  what 
they  are  planning.  Perhaps  they  are  waiting  for  a 
better  bargain  than  1  should  prove.  But  I  tell  you 
that  I  shall  close   the   bargain    if  I  ever  get  a  chance. 

"That  girl  Yvette  absolutely  baffles  me,  moreover. 
She  is  a  mystery.  If  she  is  not  the  most  complete 
monster  of  astuteness  and  perversity  that  1  have  ever 
seen,  she  certainly  is  the  most  marvelous  phenome- 
non of  innocence  that  can  be  imagined.  She  lives  in 
that  atmosphere  of  infamy  with  a  calm  and  triumph- 
ing ease  which  is  either  wonderfully  profligate  or  en- 
tirely artless.  Strange  scion  of  an  adventuress,  cast 
upon  the  muck-heap  of  that  set,  like  a  magnificent 
plant  nurtured  upon  corruption,  or  rather  like  the 
daughter  of  some  noble  race,  of  some  great  artist,  or 
of  some  grand  lord,  of  some  prince  or  dethroned 
king,  tossed  some  evening  into  her  mother's  arms,  no- 
body can  make  out  what  she  is  nor  what  she  thinks. 
But  you  are  going  to  see  her." 

Saval  began  to  laugh  and  said:  "You  are  in  love 
with  her." 

"No.  I  am  on  the  list,  which  is  not  precisely  the 
same  thing.  I  will  introduce  you  to  my  most  serious 
rivals.  But  the  chances  are  in  my  favor.  I  am  in 
the  lead,  and  some  little  distinction  is  shown  to  me." 

"You  are  in  love,"  Saval  repeated. 

"No.  She  disquiets  me,  seduces  and  disturbs  me, 
attracts  and  frightens  me  away.  1  mistrust  her  as  I 
would  a  trap,  and  1  long  for  her  as  I  long  for  a  sher- 
bet when  I  am  thirsty.  I  yield  to  her  charm,  and  I 
only  approach  her  with  the  apprehension  that  I  would 
feel  concerning  a  man  who  was  known  to  be  a  skill- 
ful thief,     in  her  presence  1  have  an  irrational  impulse 


YVETTE  g 

toward  belief  in  her  possible  purity  and  a  very  reason- 
able mistrust  of  her  not  less  probable  trickery.  1  feel 
myself  in  contact  with  an  abnormal  being,  beyond 
the  pale  of  natural  laws,  an  exquisite  or  detestable 
creature  —  1  don't  know  which." 

For  the  third  time  Saval  said:  "1  tell  you  that 
you  are  in  love.  You  speak  of  her  with  the  mag- 
niloquence of  a  poet  and  the  feeling  of  a  troubadour. 
Come,  search  your  heart,  and  confess." 

Servigny  walked  a  few  steps  without  answering. 
Then  he  replied: 

"That  is  possible,  after  all.  In  any  case,  she  fills 
my  mind  almost  continually.  Yes,  perhaps  I  am  in 
love.  I  dream  about  her  too  much.  I  think  of  her 
when  1  am  asleep  and  when  I  awake  —  that  is  surely 
a  grave  indication.  Her  face  follows  me,  accompanies 
me  ceaselessly,  ever  before  me,  around  me,  with  me. 
Is  this  love,  this  physical  infatuation  ?  Her  features 
are  so  stamped  upon  my  vision  that  I  see  her  the 
moment  I  shut  my  eyes.  My  heart  beats  quickly 
every  time  I  look  at  her,  I  don't  deny  it. 

"So  I  am  in  love  with  her,  but  in  a  queer  fash- 
ion. I  have  the  strongest  desire  for  her,  and  yet  the 
idea  of  making  her  my  wife  would  seem  to  me  a 
folly,  a  piece  of  stupidity,  a  monstrous  thing.  And  I 
have  a  little  fear  of  her,  as  well,  the  fear  which  a 
bird  feels  over  which  a  hawk  is  hovering. 

*'And  again  I  am  jealous  of  her,  jealous  of  all  of 
which  1  am  ignorant  in  her  incomprehensible  heart. 
1  am  always  wondering:  'Is  she  a  charming  young- 
ster or  a  wretched  jade?'  She  says  things  that  would 
make  an  army  shudder;  but  so  does  a  parrot.  She  is 
at  times  so  indiscreet  and  yet  modest  that  1  am  forced 


lO  WORKS  OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

to  believe  in  her  spotless  purity,  and  again  so  in- 
credibly artless  that  1  must  suspect  that  she  has  never 
been  chaste.  She  allures  me,  excites  me,  hke  a  woman 
of  a  certain  category,  and  at  the  same  time  acts  like 
an  impeccable  virgin.  She  seems  to  love  me  and  yet 
makes  fun  of  me;  she  deports  herself  in  public  as  if 
she  were  my  mistress  and  treats  me  in  private  as  if 
I  were  her  brother  or  footman. 

"There  are  times  when  I  fancy  that  she  has  as 
many  lovers  as  her  mother.  And  at  other  times  I 
imagine  that  she  suspects  absolutely  nothing  of  that 
sort  of  life,  you  understand.  Furthermore,  she  is  a 
great  novel  reader.  I  am  at  present,  while  awaiting 
something  better,  her  book  purveyor.  She  calls  me 
her  'librarian.'  Every  week  the  New  Book  Store 
sends  her,  on  my  orders,  everything  new  that  has 
appeared,  and  1  believe  that  she  reads  everything  at 
random.  It  must  make  a  strange  sort  of  mixture  in 
her  head. 

"That  kind  of  literary  hasty-pudding  accounts 
perhaps  for  some  of  the  girl's  peculiar  ways.  When 
a  young  woman  looks  at  existence  through  the  me- 
dium of  fifteen  thousand  novels,  she  must  see  it  in  a 
strange  light,  and  construct  queer  ideas  about  mat- 
ters and  things  in  general.  As  for  me,  I  am  waiting. 
It  is  certain  at  any  rate  that  I  never  have  had  for  any 
other  woman  the  devotion  which  I  have  had  for  her. 
And  still  it  is  quite  certain  that  I  shall  never  marry 
her.  So  if  she  has  had  numbers,  I  shall  swell  the 
number.  And  if  she  has  not,  1  shall  take  the  first 
ticket,  just  as  I  would  do  for  a  street  car. 

"The  case  is  very  simple.  Of  course,  she  will 
never  marry.     Who   in    the   world    would    marry   the 


YVETTE  I  I 

Marquise  Obardi's  daughter,  the  child  of  Octavia  Bar- 
din  ?  Nobody,  for  a  thousand  reasons.  Where  would 
they  ever  find  a  husband  for  her?  In  society? 
Never.  The  mother's  house  is  a  sort  of  hberty-hall 
whose  patronage  is  attracted  by  the  daughter.  Girls 
don't  get  married  under  those  conditions. 

"Would  she  find  a  husband  among  the  trades- 
people? Still  less  would  that  be  possible.  And  be- 
sides the  Marquise  is  not  the  woman  to  make  a  bad 
bargain;  she  will  give  Yvette  only  to  a  man  of  high 
position,  and  that  man  she  will  never  discover. 

"Then  perhaps  she  will  look  among  the  common 
people.  Still  less  likely.  There  is  no  solution  of  the 
problem,  then.  This  young  lady  belongs  neither  to 
society,  nor  to  the  tradesmen's  class,  nor  to  the  com- 
mon people,  and  she  can  never  enter  any  of  these 
ranks  by  marriage. 

"She  belongs  through  her  mother,  her  birth,  her 
education,  her  inheritance,  her  manners,  and  her  cus- 
toms, to  the  vortex  of  the  most  rapid  life  of  Paris. 
She  can  never  escape  it,  save  by  becoming  a  nun, 
which  is  not  at  all  probable  with  her  manners  and 
tastes.  She  has  only  one  possible  career,  a  life  of 
pleasure.  She  will  come  to  it  sooner  or  later,  if  in- 
deed she  has  not  already  begun  to  tread  its  primrose 
path.  She  cannot  escape  her  fate.  From  being  a 
young  girl  she  will  take  the  inevitable  step,  quite 
simply.  And  I  would  like  to  be  the  pivot  of  this 
transformation. 

"I  am  waiting.  There  are  many  lovers.  You 
will  see  among  them  a  Frenchman,  Monsieur  de  Bel- 
vigne;  a  Russian,  called  Prince  Kravalow,  and  an 
Italian,    Chevalier   Valreali,    who   have    all    announced 


13  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

their  candidacies  and  who  are  consequently  maneu- 
vering to  the  best  of  their  abihty.  In  addition  to 
these  there  are  several  freebooters  of  less  importance. 
The  Marquise  waits  and  watches.  But  I  think  that 
she  has  views  about  me.  She  knows  that  I  am  very 
rich,  and  she  makes  less  of  the  others. 

"  Her  drawing-room  is,  moreover,  the  most  as- 
tounding that  I  know  of,  in  such  exhibitions.  You 
even  meet  very  decent  men  there,  like  ourselves.  As 
for  the  women,  she  has  culled  the  best  there  is  from 
the  basket  of  pickpockets.  Nobody  knows  where 
she  found  them.  It  is  a  set  apart  from  Bohemia, 
apart  from  everything.  She  has  had  one  inspiration 
showing  genius,  and  that  is  the  knack  of  selecting 
especially  those  adventuresses  who  have  children, 
generally  girls.  So  that  a  fool  might  believe  that  in 
her  house  he  was  among  respectable  women!" 

They  had  reached  the  avenue  of  the  Champs- 
Elysees.  A  gentle  breeze  softly  stirred  the  leaves  and 
touched  the  faces  of  passers-by,  like  the  breaths  of  a 
giant  fan,  waving  somewhere  in  the  sky.  Silent 
shadows  wandered  beneath  the  trees;  others,  on 
benches,  made  a  dark  spot.  And  these  shadows 
spoke  very  low,  as  if  they  were  telling  each  other 
important  or  shameful  secrets. 

"You  can't  imagine  what  a  collection  of  fictitious 
titles  are  met  in  this  lair,"  said  Servigny.  "By  the 
way,  I  shall  present  you  by  the  name  of  Count 
Saval;  plain  Saval  would  not  do  at  all." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!"  cried  his  friend;  "I  would  not 
have  anyone  think  me  capable  of  borrowing  a  title, 
even  for  an  evening,  even  among  those  people. 
Ah.  nol" 


YVETTE 


U 


Servigny  began  to  laugh. 

"How  stupid  you  are!  Why,  in  that  set  they 
call  me  the  Duke  de  Servigny.  1  don't  know  how 
nor  why.  But  at  any  rate  the  Duke  de  Servigny  1 
am  and  shall  remain,  without  complaining  or  pro- 
testing. It  does  not  worry  me.  I  should  have  no 
footing  there  whatever  without  a  title." 

But  Saval  would  not  be  convinced. 

"Well,  you  are  of  rank,  and  so  you  may  remain. 
But,  as  for  me,  no.  1  shall  be  the  only  common 
person  in  the  drawing-room.  So  much  the  worse, 
or,  so  much  the  better.  It  will  be  my  mark  of  dis- 
tinction and  superiority." 

Servigny  was  obstinate. 

"I  tell  you  that  it  is  not  possible.  Why,  it  would 
almost  seem  monstrous.  You  would  have  the  effect 
of  a  ragman  at  a  meeting  of  emperors.  Let  me  do 
as  I  like.  I  shall  introduce  you  as  the  Vice-Roi  du 
'Haut-Mississippi,'  and  no  one  will  be  at  all  aston- 
ished. When  a  man  takes  on  greatness,  he  can't 
take  too  much." 

"Once  more,  no,  I  do  not  wish  it." 

"Very  well,  have  your  way.  But,  in  fact,  I  am 
very  foolish  to  try  to  convince  you.  I  defy  you  to 
get  in  without  some  one  giving  you  a  title,  just  as 
they  give  a  bunch  of  violets  to  the  ladies  at  the  en- 
trance to  certain  stores." 

They  turned  to  the  right  in  the  Rue  de  Barrie, 
mounted  one  flight  of  stairs  in  a  fine  modern  house, 
and  gave  their  overcoats  and  canes  into  the  hands  of 
four  servants  in  knee-breeches.  A  warm  odor,  as  of 
a  festival  assembly,  filled  the  air,  an  odor  of  flowers, 
perfumes,  and  women;  and  a  composed    and    contin- 

7    G.  deM.— 15 


M 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


uous  murmur  came  from  the  adjoining  rooms,  which 
were  filled  with  people. 

A  kind  of  master  of  ceremonies,  tall,  erect,  wide 
of  girth,  serious,  his  face  framed  in  white  whiskers, 
approached  the  newcomers,  asking  with  a  short  and 
haughty  bow:     "Whom  shall  I  announce?" 

"Monsieur  Saval,"  Servigny  replied. 

Then  with  a  loud  voice,  the  man  opening  the 
door  cried  out  to  the  crowd  of  guests: 

"Monsieur  the  Duke  de  Servigny. 

"Monsieur  the  Baron  Saval." 

The  first  drawing-room  was  filled  with  women. 
The  first  thing  which  attracted  attention  was  the  dis- 
play of  bare  shoulders,  above  a  flood  of  brilliant 
gowns. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  who  stood  talking  with 
three  friends,  turned  and  came  forward  with  a  majes- 
tic step,  with  grace  in  her  mien  and  a  smile  on  her 
lips.  Her  forehead  was  narrow  and  very  low,  and 
was  covered  with  a  mass  of  glossy  black  hair,  en- 
croaching a  little  upon  the  temples. 

She  was  tall,  a  trifle  too  large,  a  little  too  stout, 
over  ripe,  but  very  pretty,  with  a  heavy,  warm,  potent 
beauty.  Beneath  that  mass  of  hair,  full  of  dreams 
and  smiles,  rendering  her  mysteriously  captivating, 
were  enormous  black  eyes.  Her  nose  was  a  little 
narrow,  her  mouth  large  and  infinitely  seductive, 
made  to  speak  and  to  conquer. 

Her  greatest  charm  was  in  her  voice.  It  came 
from  that  mouth  as  water  from  a  spring,  so  natural, 
so  light,  so  well  modulated,  so  clear,  that  there  was 
a  physical  pleasure  in  listening  to  it.  It  was  a  joy 
for  the  ear  to  hear   the    flexible   words  flow  with  the 


YVETTE 


»5 


grace  of  a  babbling  brook,  and  it  was  a  joy  for  the 
eyes  to  see  those  pretty  lips,  a  trifle  too  red,  open  as 
the  words  rippled  forth. 

She  gave  one  hand  to  Servigny,  who  kissed  it, 
and  dropping  her  fan  on  its  little  gold  chain,  she  gave 
the  other  to  Saval,  saying  to  him:  "You  are  wel- 
come, Baron,  all  the  Duke's  friends  are  at  home 
here." 

Then  she  fixed  her  brilliant  eyes  upon  the  Colossus 
who  had  just  been  introduced  to  her.  She  had  just 
the  slightest  down  on  her  upper  lip,  a  suspicion  of  a 
mustache,  which  seemed  darker  when  she  spoke. 
There  was  a  pleasant  odor  about  her,  pervading,  in- 
toxicating, som.e  perfume  of  America  or  of  the  Indies. 
Other  people  came  in,  marquesses,  counts  or  princes. 
She  said  to  Servigny,  with  the  graciousness  of  a 
mother:  "You  will  find  my  daughter  in  the  other 
parlor.  Have  a  good  time,  gentlemen,  the  house  is 
yours." 

And  she  left  them  to  go  to  those  who  had  come 
later,  throwing  at  Saval  that  smiling  and  fleeting 
glance  which  women  use  to  show  that  they  are 
pleased.     Servigny  grasped  his  friend's  arm. 

"I  will  pilot  you,"  said  he.  "In  this  parlor 
where  we  now  are,  women,  the  temples  of  the 
fleshly,  fresh  or  otherwise.  Bargains  as  good  as 
new,  even  better,  for  sale  or  on  lease.  At  the  right, 
gaming,  the  temple  of  money.  You  understand  all 
about  that.  At  the  lower  end,  dancing,  the  temple 
of  innocence,  the  sanctuary,  the  market  for  young 
girls.  They  are  shown  off  there  in  every  light. 
Even  legitimate  marriages  are  tolerated.  It  is  the 
future,   the    hope,  of   our    evenings.     And    the    most 


l6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

curious  part  of  this  museum  of  moral  diseases  are 
these  young  girls  whose  souls  are  out  of  joint,  just 
like  the  limbs  of  the  little  clowns  born  of  mounte- 
banks.    Come  and  look  at  them." 

He  bowed,  right  and  left,  courteously,  a  compli^ 
ment  on  his  lips,  sweeping  each  low-gowned  woman 
whom  he  knew  with  the  look  of  an  expert. 

The  musicians,  at  the  end  of  the  second  parlor, 
were  playing  a  waltz;  and  the  two  friends  stopped 
at  the  door  to  look  at  them.  A  score  of  couples 
were  whirling  —  the  men  with  a  serious  expression, 
and  the  women  with  a  fixed  smile  on  their  lips. 
They  displayed  a  good  deal  of  shoulder,  like  their 
mothers;  and  the  bodices  of  some  were  only  held  in 
place  by  a  slender  ribbon,  disclosing  at  times  more 
than  is  generally  shown. 

Suddenly  from  the  end  of  the  room  a  tall  girl 
darted  forward,  gliding  through  the  crowd,  brushing 
against  the  dancers,  and  holding  her  long  train  in 
her  left  hand.  She  ran  with  quick  little  steps  as 
women  do  in  crowds,  and  called  out:  "Ah!  How 
is  Muscade?    Hov.'  do  you  do,  Muscnde?" 

Her  features  wore  an  expression  of  the  bloom  oi 
life,  the  illumination  of  happiness.  Her  white  flesh 
seemed  to  shine,  the  golden-white  flesh  which  goes 
with  red  hair.  The  mass  of  her  tresses,  twisted  on 
her  head,  fiery,  flaming  locks,  nestled  against  her 
supple  neck,  which  was  still  a  little  thin. 

She  seemed  to  move  just  as  her  mother  was 
made  to  speak,  so  natural,  noble,  and  simple  were 
her  gestures.  A  person  felt  a  moral  joy  and  physical 
pleasure  in  seeing  her  walk,  stir  about,  bend  her 
head,  or  lift  her  arm. 


YVETTE 


n 


"Ahl  Muscade,  how  do  you  do,  Muscade?"  she 
repeated. 

Servigny  shook  her  hand  violently,  as  he  would  a 
man's,  and  said:  "Mademoiselle  Yvette,  my  friend, 
Baron  Saval." 

"  Good  evening,  Monsieur.  Are  you  always  as 
tall  as  that?" 

Servigny  replied  in  that  bantering  tone  which  he 
always  used  with  her,  in  order  to  conceal  his  mis- 
trust and  his  uncertainty: 

"No,  Mam'zelle.  He  has  put  on  his  greatest  di- 
mensions to  please  your  mother,  who  loves  a  co- 
lossus." 

And  the  young  girl  remarked  with  a  comic  seri- 
ousness: "Very  well!  But  when  you  come  to  see 
me  you  must  diminish  a  little  if  you  please.  I  prefer 
the  medium  height.  Now  Muscade  has  just  the  pro- 
portions which  I  like." 

And  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  newcomer.  Then 
she  asked:  "Do  you  dance,  Muscade?  Come,  let  us 
waltz."  Without  replying,  with  a  quick  movement, 
passionately,  Servigny  clasped  her  waist  and  they  dis- 
appeared with  the  fury  of  a  whirlwind. 

They  danced  more  rapidly  than  any  of  the  others, 
whirled  and  whirled,  and  turned  madly,  so  close  to- 
gether that  they  seemed  but  one,  and  with  the  form 
erect,  the  legs  almost  motionless,  as  if  some  invisible 
mechanism,  concealed  beneath  their  feet,  caused  them 
to  twirl.  They  appeared  tireless.  The  other  dancers 
stopped  from  time  to  time.  They  still  danced  on, 
alone.  They  seemed  not  to  know  where  they  were 
nor  what  they  were  doing,  as  if  they  had  gone  far 
away   from   the   ball,    in   an   ecstasy.     The   musicians 


l8  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

continued  to  play,  with  their  looks  fixed  upon  this 
mad  couple;  all  the  guests  gazed  at  them,  and  when 
finally  they  did  stop  dancing,  everyone  applauded 
them. 

She  was  a  little  flushed,  with  strange  eyes,  ardent 
and  timid,  less  daring  than  a  moment  before,  troubled 
eyes,  blue,  yet  with  a  pupil  so  black  that  they  seemed 
hardly  natural.  Servigny  appeared  giddy.  He  leaned 
against  a  door  to  regain  his  composure. 

"You  have  no  head,  my  poor  Muscade,  1  am 
steadier  than  you,"  said  Yvette  to  Servigny. 

He  smiled  nervously,  and  devoured  her  with  a 
look.  His  animal  feelings  revealed  themselves  in  his 
eyes  and  in  the  curl  of  his  lips.  She  stood  beside 
him  looking  down,  and  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  in 
short  gasps  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Then  she  said  softly:  "Really,  there  are  times 
when  you  are  like  a  tiger  about  to  spring  upon  his 
prey.  Come,  give  me  your  arm,  and  let  us  find 
your  friend." 

Silently  he  offered  her  his  arm  and  they  went 
down  the  long  drawing-room  together. 

Saval  was  not  alone,  for  the  Marquise  Obardi  had 
rejoined  him.  She  conversed  with  him  on  ordinary 
and  fashionable  subjects  with  a  seductiveness  in  her 
tones  which  intoxicated  him.  And,  looking  at  her 
with  his  mental  eye,  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  lips 
uttered  words  far  different  from  those  which  they 
formed.  When  she  saw  Servigny  her  face  immedi- 
ately lighted  up,  and  turning  toward  him  she  said: 

"You  know,  my  dear  Duke,  that  I  have  just 
leased  a  villa  at  Bougival  for  two  months,  and  I 
count  upon  your  coming  to   see   me  there,  and   upon 


YVETTE 


19 


your  friend  also.  Listen,  We  take  possession  next 
Monday,  and  shall  expect  both  of  you  to  dinner  the 
following  Saturday.     We  shall  keep  you  over  Sunday." 

Perfectly  serene  and  tranquil  Yvette  smiled,  saying 
with  a  decision  which  swept  away  hesitation  on  his 
part: 

"Of  course  Muscade  will  come  to  dinner  on  Sat- 
urday. We  have  only  to  ask  him,  for  he  and  1  in- 
tend to  commit  a  lot  of  follies  in  the  country." 

He  thought  he  divined  the  birth  of  a  promise  in 
her  smile,  and  in  her  voice  he  heard  what  he  thought 
was  invitation. 

Then  the  Marquise  turned  her  big,  black  eyes 
upon  Saval:     "And  you  will,  of  course,  come,  Baron:*" 

With  a  smile  that  forbade  doubt,  he  bent  toward 
her,  saying,   "I  shall  be  only  too  charmed,  Madame." 

Then  Yvette  murmured  with  malice  that  was  either 
naive  or  traitorous:  "We  will  set  all  the  world  by 
the  ears  down  there,  won't  we,  Muscade,  and  make  my 
regiment  of  admirers  fairly  mad."  And  with  a  look, 
she  pointed  out  a  group  of  men  who  were  looking 
at  them  from  a  little  distance. 

Said  Servigny  to  her:  "As  many  follies  as  yoti 
may  please,  Mam'zelle." 

In  speaking  to  Yvette,  Servigny  never  used  the 
word  "Mademoiselle,"  by  reason  of  his  close  and  long 
intimacy  with  her. 

Then  Saval  asked:  "Why  does  Mademoiselle  al- 
ways call  my  friend  Servigny  'Muscade'?" 

Yvette  assumed  a  very  frank  air  and  said: 

"1  will  tell  you:  It  is  because  he  always  slips 
through  my  hands.  Now  1  think  I  have  him,  and 
then  1  find  I  have  not." 


20  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  Marquise,  with  her  eyes  upon  Saval,  and  evi- 
dently preoccupied,  said  in  a  careless  tone:  "You 
children  are  very  funny." 

But  Yvette  bridled  up:  "1  do  not  intend  to  be 
funny;  I  am  simply  frank.  Muscade  pleases  me, 
and  is  always  deserting  me,  and  that  is  what  annoys 
me." 

Servigny  bowed  profoundly,  saying:  "I  will  never 
leave  you  any  more,  Mam'zelle,  neither  day  nor  night." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  horror  : 

"My  goodness!  no  —  what  do  you  mean?  You 
are  all  right  during  the  day,  but  at  night  you  might 
embarrass  me." 

With  an  air  of  impertinence  he  asked:  "And 
why?" 

Yvette  responded  calmly  and  audaciously,  "Be- 
cause you  would  not  look  well  en  deshabille." 

The  Marquise,  without  appearing  at  all  disturbed, 
said:  "What  extraordinary  subjects  for  conversation. 
One  would  think  that  you  were  not  at  all  ignorant  of 
such  things." 

And  Servigny  jokingly  added:  "That  is  also  my 
opinion.   Marquise." 

Yvette  turned  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  in  a  haughty, 
yet  wounded,  tone  said:  "You  are  becoming  very 
vulgar  —  just  as  you  have  been  several  times  lately." 
And  turning  quickly  she  appealed  to  an  individual 
standing  by: 

"Chevalier,  come  and  defend  me  from  insult." 

A  thin,  brown  man,  with  an  easy  carriage,  came 
forward. 

"Who  is  the  culprit?"  said  he,  with  a  constrained 
smile. 


YVETTE  21 

Yvette  pointed  out  Servigny  with  a  nod  of  her 
head : 

"There  he  is,  but  I  like  him  better  than  I  do  you, 
because  he  is  less  of  a  bore." 

The  Chevalier  Valreali  bowed: 

"I  do  what  I  can,  Mademoiselle.  I  may  have  less 
ability,  but  not  less  devotion." 

A  gentleman  came  forward,  tall  and  stout,  with 
gray  whiskers,  saying  in  loud  tones:  "Mademoiselle 
Yvette,  1  am  your  most  devoted  slave." 

Yvette  cried:  "Ah,  Monsieur  de  Belvigne."  Then 
turning  toward  Saval,  she  introduced  him. 

"My  last  adorer  —  big,  fat,  rich,  and  stupid.  Those 
are  the  kind  1  like.  A  veritable  drum-major  —  but  of 
the  table  d'hote.  But  see,  you  are  still  bigger  than 
he.  How  shall  1  nickname  you?  Good!  I  have  it. 
I  shall  call  you  'M.  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  Junior,'  from 
the  Colossus  who  certainly  was  your  father.  But  you 
two  ought  to  have  very  interesting  things  to  say  to 
each  other  up  there,  above  the  heads  of  us  all  —  so, 
by-bye." 

And  she  left  them  quickly,  going  to  the  orchestra 
to  make  the  musicians  strike  up  a  quadrille. 

Madame  Obardi  seemed  preoccupied.  In  a  soft 
voice  she  said  to  Servigny: 

"You  are  always  teasing  her.  You  will  warp  her 
character  and  bring  out  many  bad  traits." 

Servigny  replies:  "Why,  haven't  you  finished  her 
education?" 

She  appeared  not  to  understand,  and  continued 
talking  in  a  friendly  way.  But  she  noticed  a  solemn 
looking  man,  wearing  a  perfect  constellation  of  crosses 
and  orders,  standing  near  her,  and  she  ran  to  him: 


22  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Ah!  Prince,  Prince,  wiiat  good  fortune!" 

Servigny  took  Saval's  arm  and  drew  him  away: 

"That  is  the  latest  serious  suitor,  Prince  Krava- 
iow.     Isn't  she  superb?" 

"To  my  mind  they  are  both  superb.  The  mother 
would  suffice  for  me  perfectly,"  answered  Saval, 

Servigny  nodded  and  said:  "At  your  disposal,  my 
dear  boy." 

The  dancers  elbowed  them  aside,  as  they  were 
forming  for  a  quadrille. 

"Now  let  us  go  and  see  the  sharpers,"  said  Ser- 
vigny.    And  they  entered  the  gambling-room. 

Around  each  table  stood  a  group  of  men,  looking 
on.  There  was  very  little  conversation.  At  times  the 
clink  of  gold  coins,  tossed  upon  the  green  cloth  or 
hastily  seized,  added  its  sound  to  the  murmur  of  the 
players,  just  as  if  the  money  was  putting  in  its  word 
among  the   human  voices. 

All  the  men  were  decorated  with  various  orders, 
and  odd  ribbons,  and  they  all  wore  the  same  severe 
expression,  with  different  countenances.  The  espe- 
cially distinguishing  feature  was  the  beard. 

The  stiff  American  with  his  horseshoe,  the  haughty 
Hnglishman  with  his  fan-beard  open  on  his  breast, 
the  Spaniard  with  his  black  fleece  reaching  to  the 
eyes,  the  Roman  with  that  huge  mustache  which 
Italy  copied  from  Victor  Emmanuel,  the  Austrian  with 
his  whiskers  and  shaved  chin,  a  Russian  general 
whose  lip  seemed  armed  with  two  twisted  lances, 
and  a  Frenchman  with  a  dainty  mustache,  displayed 
the  fancies  of  all  the  barbers  in  the  world. 

"You  won't  join  the  game.^"  asked  Servigny. 

"No,  shall  you?" 


YVETTE  23 

"Not  now.  If  you  are  ready  to  go,  we  will  come 
back  some  quieter  day.  There  are  too  many  people 
here  to-day,  and  we  can't  do  anything," 

"  Well,  let  us  go." 

And  they  disappeared  behind  a  door-curtain  into 
the  hall.  As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  street  Servigny 
asked:     "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  It  certainly  is  interesting,  but  I  fancy  the 
women's  side  of  it  more  than  the  men's." 

"Indeed!  Those  women  are  the  best  of  the  tribe 
for  us.  Don't  you  find  that  you  breathe  the  odor  of 
love  among  them,  just  as  you  scent  the  perfumes  at 
a  hairdresser's.?" 

"Really  such  houses  are  the  place  for  one  to  go. 
And  what  experts,  my  dear  fellow!  What  artists! 
Have  you  ever  eaten  bakers'  cakes  ?  They  look  well, 
but  they  amount  to  nothing.  The  man  who  bakes 
them  only  knows  how  to  make  bread.  Well!  the 
love  of  a  woman  in  ordinary  society  always  reminds 
me  of  these  bake-shop  trifles,  while  the  love  you 
find  at  houses  like  the  Marquise  Obardi's,  don't  you 
see,  is  the  real  sweetmeat.  Oh!  they  know  how  to 
make  cakes,  these  charming  pastry-cooks.  Only  you 
pay  five  sous,  at  their  shops,  for  what  costs  two  sous 
elsewhere." 

"Who  is  the  master  of  the  house  just  now?" 
asked  Saval. 

Servigny  shrugged  his  shoulders,  signifying  his 
ignorance. 

"I  don't  know,  the  latest  one  known  was  an 
English  peer,  but  he  left  three  months  ago.  At 
present  she  must  live  off  the  common  herd,  or  the 
gambling,  perhaps,  and   on  the  gamblers,  for  she  has 


24  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

her  caprices.  But  tell  me,  it  is  understood  that  we 
dine  with  her  on  Saturday  at  Bougival,  is  it  not? 
People  are  more  free  in  the  country,  and  1  shall 
succeed  in  finding  out  what  ideas  Yvette  has  in  her 
head!  " 

"1  should  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Saval.  "I 
have  nothing  to  do  that  day." 

Passing  down  through  the  Champs-Elysees,  under 
the  steps  they  disturbed  a  couple  making  love  on  one 
of  the  benches,  and  Servigny  muttered:  "What 
foolishness  and  what  a  serious  matter  at  the  same 
time!  How  commonplace  and  amusing  love  is,  al- 
ways the  same  and  always  different!  And  the  beg- 
gar who  gives  his  sweetheart  twenty  sous  gets  as 
much  return  as  1  would  for  ten  thousand  francs  from 
some  Obardi,  no  younger  and  no  less  stupid  perhaps 
than  this  nondescript.     What  nonsense!" 

He  said  nothing  for  a  few  minutes;  then  he  began 
again:  "All  the  same,  it  would  be  good  to  become 
Yvette's  first  lover.     Oh!  for  that  I  would  give — " 

He  did  not  add  what  he  would  give,  and  Saval 
said  good  night  to  him  as  they  reached  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Royale. 


CHAPTER     II 


BOUGIVAL    AND     LoVE 


HEY  had  set  the  table  on  the  veranda 
which  overlooked  the  river.  The 
Printemps  villa,  leased  by  the 
Marquise  Obardi,  was  halfway  up 
this  hill,  just  at  the  corner  of  the 
Seine,  which  turned  before  the  garden 
wall,  flowing  toward  Marly. 
Opposite  the  residence,  the  island 
of  Croissy  formed  a  horizon  of  tall  trees, 
a  mass  of  verdure,  and  they  could  see  a 
long  stretch  of  the  big  river  as  far  as  the 
floating  cafd  of  La  Grenouillere  hidden  be- 
neath the  foliage. 
The  evening  fell,  one  of  those  calm  even- 
ings at  the  waterside,  full  of  color  yet  soft,  one  of 
those  peaceful  evenings  which  produces  a  sensation  of 
pleasure.  No  breath  of  air  stirred  the  branches,  no 
shiver  of  wind  ruffled  the  smooth  clear  surface  of  the 
Seine.  It  was  not  too  warm,  it  was  mild  —  good 
weather  to  live  in.  The  grateful  coolness  of  the 
banks  of  the  Seine  rose  toward  a  serene  sky. 

The  sun  disappeared  behind  the  trees   to  shine  on 

(25) 


26  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Other  lands,  and  one  seemed  to  absorb  the  serenity 
of  the  already  sleeping  earth,  to  inhale,  in  the  peace 
of  space,  the  life  of  the  infinite. 

As  they  left  the  drawing-room  to  seat  themselves 
at  the  table  everyone  was  joyous.  A  softened  gaiety 
filled  their  hearts,  they  felt  that  it  would  be  so  de- 
lightful to  dine  there  in  the  country,  with  that  great 
river  and  that  twilight  foi  a  setting,  breathing  that 
pure  and   fragrant  air. 

The  Marquise  had  taken  Saval's  arm,  and  Yvette, 
Servigny's.  The  four  were  alone  by  themselves.  The 
two  women  seemed  entirely  different  persons  from 
what  they  were  at  Paris,  especially  Yvette.  She 
talked  but  little,  and  seemed  languid  and  grave. 

Saval,  hardly  recognizing  her  in  this  frame  of 
mind,  asked  her:  "What  is  the  matter,  Mademoi- 
selle? I  find  you  changed  since  last  week.  You 
have  become  quite  a  serious  person." 

"It  is  the  country  that  does  that  for  me,"  she  re- 
plied. "I  am  not  the  same,  I  feel  queer;  besides  I 
am  never  two  days  alike.  To-day  1  have  the  air  of  a 
mad  woman,  and  to-morrow  shall  be  as  grave  as  an 
elegy.  I  change  with  the  weather,  I  don't  know  why. 
You  see,  1  am  capable  of  anything,  according  to  the 
moment.  There  are  days  when  1  would  like  to  kill 
people,— not  animals,  I  would  never  kill  animals,— but 
people,  yes,  and  other  days  when  I  weep  at  a  mere 
thing.  A  lot  of  different  ideas  pass  through  my  head. 
It  depends,  too,  a  good  deal  on  how  1  get  up. 
Kvery  morning,  on  waking,  I  can  tell  just  what  1 
shall  be  in  the  evening.  Perhaps  it  is  our  dreams 
that  settle  it  for  us,  and  it  depends  on  the  book  I 
have  just  read." 


YVETTE  27 

She  was  clad  in  a  white  flannel  suit  which  deli- 
cately enveloped  her  in  the  floating  softness  of  the 
material.  Her  bodice,  with  full  folds,  suggested, 
without  displaying  and  without  restraining,  her  free 
chest,  which  was  firm  and  already  ripe.  And  her 
superb  neck  emerged  from  a  froth  of  soft  lace,  bend- 
ing with  gentle  movements,  fairer  than  her  gown,  a 
pilaster  of  flesh,  bearing  the  heavy  mass  of  her  golden 
hair. 

Servigny  looked  at  her  for  a  long  time:  "You 
are  adorable  this  evening,  Mam'zelle,"  said  he,  "1 
wish  I  could  alv/ays  see  you  like  this." 

"Don't  make  a  declaration,  Muscade.  I  should  take 
it  seriously,  and  that  might  cost  you  dear." 

The  Marquise  seemed  happy,  very  happy.  All  in 
black,  richly  dressed  in  a  plain  gown  which  showed 
her  strong,  full  lines,  a  bit  of  red  at  the  bodice,  a 
cincture  of  red  carnations  falling  from  her  waist  like 
a  chain,  and  fastened  at  the  hips,  and  a  red  rose  in 
her  dark  hair,  she  carried  in  all  her  person  something 
fervid, —  in  that  simple  costume,  in  those  flowers 
which  seemed  to  bleed,  in  her  look,  in  her  slow 
speech,  in  her  peculiar  gestures. 

Saval,  too,  appeared  serious  and  absorbed.  From 
time  to  time  he  stroked  his  pointed  beard,  trimmed 
in  the  fashion  of  Henri  111.,  and  seemed  to  be  medi- 
tating on  the  most  profound  subjects. 

Nobody  spoke  for  several  minutes.  Then  as  they 
were  serving  the  trout,  Servigny  remarked: 

"Silence  is  a  good  thing,  at  times.  People  are 
often  nearer  to  each  other  when  they  are  keeping 
still  than  when  they  are  talking.  Isn't  that  so,  Mar- 
quise?" 


28  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  turned  a  little  toward  him  and  answered: 

"  It  is  quite  true.  It  is  so  sweet  to  think  together 
about  agreeable  things. 

She  raised  her  warm  glance  toward  Saval,  and 
they  continued  for  some  seconds  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes.  A  slight,  almost  inaudible  movement 
took  place  beneath  the  table. 

Servigny  resumed:  "Mam'zelle  Yvette,  you  will 
make  me  believe  that  you  are  in  love  if  you  keep  on 
being  as  good  as  that.  Now,  with  whom  could  you 
be  in  love?  Let  us  think  together,  if  you  will;  I  put 
aside  the  army  of  vulgar  sighers.  I'll  only  take  the 
principal  ones.     Is  it  Prince  Kravalow?" 

At  this  name  Yvette  awoke:  "My  poor  Muscade, 
can  you  think  of  such  a  thing?  Why,  the  Prince  has 
the  air  of  a  Russian  in  a  wax-figure  museum,  who 
has  won  medals  in  a  hairdressing  competition." 

"Good!  We'll  drop  the  Prince.  But  you  have 
noticed  the  Viscount  Pierre  de  Belvigne?" 

This  time  she  began  to  laugh,  and  asked:  "Can 
you  imagine  me  hanging  to  the  neck  of  'Raisine'?" 
She  nicknamed  him  according  to  the  day,  Raisine, 
Malvoisie,  *  Argenteuil,  for  she  gave  everybody  nick- 
names. And  she  would  murmur  to  his  face:  "My 
dear  little  Pierre,"  or  "My  divine  Pedro,  darling 
Pierrot,  give  your  bow-wow's  head  to  your  dear  little 
girl,  who  wants  to  kiss  it." 

"Scratch  out  number  two.  There  still  remains 
the  Chevalier  Valreali  whom  the  Marquise  seems  to 
favor,"  continued  Servigny. 

Yvette    regained    all    her    gaiety:      "'Teardrop'? 


•Preserved  grapes  and  pears,  malmsey,  — a  poor  wine. 


YVETTE 


29 


Why  he  weeps  like  a  Magdalene.  He  goes  to  all  the 
first-class  funerals.  I  imagine  myself  dead  every  time 
he  looks  at  me." 

"That  settles  the  third.  So  the  lightning  will 
strike  Baron  Saval,  here." 

"Monsieur  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  Junior?  No. 
He  is  too  strong.  It  would  seem  to  me  as  if  I  were 
in  love  with  the  triumphal  arch  of  L'Etoile." 

"Then  Mam'zelle,  it  is  beyond  doubt  that  you  are 
in  love  with  me,  for  I  am  the  only  one  of  your 
adorers  of  whom  we  have  not  yet  spoken.  1  left 
myself  for  the  last  through  modesty  and  through  dis- 
cretion.    It  remains  for  me  to  thank  you." 

She  replied  with  happy  grace:  "In  love  with 
you,  Muscade  ?  Ah!  no.  1  like  you.  but  I  don't  love 
you.  Wait  —  I  —  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you.  I 
don't  love  you  —  yet.  You  have  a  chance  —  perhaps. 
Persevere,  Muscade,  be  devoted,  ardent,  submissive, 
full  of  little  attentions  and  considerations,  docile  to 
my  slightest  caprices,  ready  for  anything  to  please 
me,  and  we  shall  see  —  later." 

"But,  Mam'zelle,  I  would  rather  furnish  all  you 
demand  afterward  than  beforehand,  if  it  be  the  same 
to  you." 

She  asked  with  an  artless  air:  "After  what,  Mus- 
cade?" 

"After  you  have  shown  me  that  you  love  me,  by 
Jove I" 

"Well,  act  as  if  I  loved  you,  and  believe  it,  if  you 
wish." 

"But  you  —  " 

"Be  quiet,  Muscade;  enough  on  the  subject." 

The    sun    had    sunk    behind    the    island,    but   the 

7    G.  de  M.— 16 


30 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


whole  sky  still  flamed  like  a  fire,  and  the  peaceful 
water  of  the  river  seemed  changed  to  blood.  The 
reflections  from  the  horizon  reddened  houses,  objects, 
and  persons.  The  scarlet  rose  in  the  Marquise's  hair 
had  the  appearance  of  a  splash  of  purple  fallen  from 
the  clouds  upon  her  head. 

As  Yvette  looked  on  from  her  end,  the  Marquise 
rested,  as  if  by  carelessness,  her  bare  hand  upon 
Saval's  hand;  but  the  young  girl  made  a  motion  and 
the  Marquise  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  quick  ges- 
ture, pretending  to  readjust  something  in  the  folds 
of  her  corsage. 

Servigny,  who  was  looking  at  them,  said: 

"If  you  like,  Mam'zelle,  we  will  take  a  walk  on 
the  island  after  dinner." 

"Oh,  yes!  That  will  be  delightful.  We  will  go 
all  alone,  won't  we,  Muscade?" 

"Yes,  all  alone,  Mam'zelle!" 

The  vast  silence  of  the  horizon,  the  sleepy  tran- 
quillity of  the  evening  captured  heart,  body,  and  voice. 
There  are  peaceful,  chosen  hours  when  it  becomes 
almost  impossible  to  talk. 

The  servants  waited  on  them  noiselessly.  The 
firmamental  conflagration  faded  away,  and  the  soft 
night  spread  its  shadows  over  the  earth. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  long  in  this  place?" 
asked  Saval. 

And  the  Marquise  answered,  dwelling  on  each 
word:     "Yes,  as  long  as  I  am  happy." 

As  it  was  too  dark  to  see,  lamps  were  brought. 
They  cast  upon  the  table  a  strange,  pale  gleam  be- 
neath the  great  obscurity  of  space;  and  very  soon  a 
shower   of  gnats    fell    upon   the   tablecloth  —  the  tiny 


YVETTE 


31 


gnats  which  immolate  themselves  by  passing  over 
the  glass  chimneys,  and,  with  wings  and  legs  scorched, 
powder  the  table-linen,  dishes,  and  cups  with  a  kind 
of  gray  and  hopping  dust. 

They  swallowed  them  in  the  wine,  they  ate  them 
in  the  sauces,  they  saw  them  moving  on  the  bread, 
and  had  their  faces  and  hands  tickled  by  the  count- 
less swarm  of  these  tiny  insects.  They  were  contin- 
ually compelled  to  throw  away  the  beverages,  to 
cover  the  plates,  and  while  eating  to  shield  the  food 
with  infinite  precautions. 

It  amused  Yvette.  Servigny  took  care  to  shelter 
what  she  bore  to  her  mouth,  to  guard  her  glass,  to 
hold  his  handkerchief  stretched  out  over  her  head 
iike  a  roof.  But  the  Marquise,  disgusted,  became 
nervous,  and  the  end  of  the  dinner  came  quickly. 
Yvette,  who  had  not  forgotten  Servigny's  proposition, 
said  to  him: 

"Now  we'll  go  to  the  island." 

Her  mother  cautioned  her  in  a  languid  tone: 
"Don't  be  late,  above  all  things.  We  will  escort  you 
to  the  ferry." 

And  they  started  in  couples,  the  young  girl  and 
her  admirer  walking  in  front,  on  the  road  to  the 
shore.  They  heard,  behind  them,  the  Marquise  and 
Saval  speaking  very  rapidly  in  low  tones.  All  was 
dark,  with  a  thick,  inky  darkness.  But  the  sky 
swarmed  with  grains  of  fire,  and  seemed  to  sow  them 
in  the  river,  for  the  black  water  was  flecked  with 
stars. 

The  frogs  were  croaking  monotonously  upon  the 
bank,  and  numerous  nightingales  were  uttering  their 
low,  sweet  song  in  the  calm  and  peaceful  air. 


32 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Yvette  suddenly  said:  "Gracious!  They  are  not 
walking  behind  us  any  more,  where  are  they?"  And 
she  called  out:  "Mamma!"  No  voice  replied.  The 
young  girl  resumed:  "At  any  rate,  they  can't  be  far 
away,  for  1  heard  them  just  now." 

Servigny  murmured:  "They  must  have  gone  back. 
Your  mother  was  cold,  perhaps."  And  he  drew  her 
along. 

Before  them  a  light  gleamed.  It  was  the  tavern 
of  Martinet,  restaurant-keeper  and  fisherman.  At  their 
call  a  man  came  out  of  the  house,  and  they  got  into 
a  large  boat  which  was  moored  among  the  v/eeds  of 
the  shore. 

The  ferryman  took  his  oars,  and  the  unwieldy 
barge,  as  it  advanced,  disturbed  the  sleeping  stars 
upon  the  water  and  set  them  into  a  mad  dance, 
which  gradually  calmed  down  after  they  had  passed. 
They  touched  the  other  shore  and  disembarked  be- 
neath the  great  trees.  A  cool  freshness  of  damp 
earth  permeated  the  air  under  the  lofty  and  clustered 
branches,  where  there  seemed  to  be  as  many  night- 
ingales as  there  were  leaves.  A  distant  piano  began 
to  play  a  popular  waltz. 

Servigny  took  Yvette's  arm  and  very  gently 
slipped  his  hand  around  her  waist  and  gave  her  a 
slight  hug. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  he  said. 

"I?     About  nothing  at  all.     1  am  very  happy!" 

"Then  you  don't  love  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Muscade,  1  love  you,  I  love  you  a  great 
deal;  only  leave  me  alone.  It  is  too  beautiful  here  to 
listen  to  your  nonsense." 

He  drew  her  toward   him,  although   she  tried,  by 


YVETTE 


33 


little  pushes,  to  extricate  herself,  and  through  her  soft 
flannel  gown  he  felt  the  warmth  of  her  flesh.  He 
stammered: 

"  Yvette!" 

"Well,  what?" 

"  I  do  love  you!" 

"But  you  are  not  in  earnest,  Muscade." 

"Oh,  yes  1  am.  I  have  loved  you  for  a  long 
time." 

She  continually  kept  trying  to  separate  herself  from 
him,  trying  to  release  the  arm  crushed  between  their 
bodies.  They  walked  with  difficulty,  trammeled  by 
this  bond  and  by  these  movements,  and  went  zig- 
zagging along  like  drunken  folk. 

He  knew  not  what  to  say  to  her,  feeling  that  he 
could  not  talk  to  a  young  girl  as  he  would  to  a 
woman.  He  was  perplexed,  thinking  what  he  ought 
to  do,  wondering  if  she  consented  or  did  not  under- 
stand, and  curbing  his  spirit  to  find  just  the  right, 
tender,  and  decisive  words.  He  kept  saying  every 
second: 

"Yvette!     Speak!     Yvette!" 

Then,  suddenly,  risking  all,  he  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek.  She  gave  a  little  start  aside,  and  said  with  a 
vexed  air: 

"Oh!  you  are  absurd.  Are  you  going  to  let  me 
alone?" 

The  tone  of  her  voice  did  not  at  all  reveal  her 
thoughts  nor  her  wishes  ;  and,  not  seeing  her  too 
angry,  he  applied  his  lips  to  the  beginning  of  her 
neck,  just  beneath  the  golden  hair,  that  charming 
spot  which  he  had  so  often  coveted. 

Then  she  made   great   efforts  to   free   herself.     But 


34  WORRS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

he  held  her  strongly,  and  placing  his  other  hand  on 
her  shoulder,  he  compelled  her  to  turn  her  head  to- 
ward him  and  gave  her  a  fond,  passionate  kiss, 
squarely  on  the  mouth. 

She  slipped  from  his  arms  by  a  quick  undulation 
of  the  body,  and.  free  from  his  grasp,  she  disap- 
peared into  the  darkness  with  a  great  swishing  of 
skirts,  like  the  whir  of  a   bird  as  it  flies  away. 

He  stood  motionless  a  moment,  surprised  by  her 
suppleness  and  her  disappearance,  then  hearing  noth- 
ing, he  called  gently:     "Yvette!" 

She  did  not  reply.  He  began  to  walk  forward, 
peering  through  the  shadows,  looking  in  the  under- 
brush for  the  white  spot  her  dress  should  make.  AU 
was  dark.     He  cried  out  more  loudly: 

"Mam'zelle  Yvette  1     Mam'zelle  Yvette!" 

Nothing  stirred.  He  stopped  and  listened.  The 
whole  island  was  still;  there  was  scarcely  a  rustle  of 
leaves  over  his  head.  The  frogs  alone  continued  their 
deep  croakings  on  the  shores.  Then  he  wandered 
from  thicket  to  thicket,  going  where  the  banks  were 
steep  and  bushy  and  returning  to  places  where  they 
were  flat  and  bare  as  a  dead  man's  arm.  He  pro- 
ceeded until  he  was  opposite  Bougival  and  reached 
the  establishment  of  La  Grenouillere,  groping  the 
clumps  of  trees,  calling  out  continually: 

"Mam'zelle  Yvette,  where  are  you?  Answer.  It 
is  ridiculous!  Come,  answer!  Don't  keep  me  hunt- 
ing like  this." 

A  distant  clock  began  to  strike.  He  counted  the 
hours:  twelve.  He  had  been  searching  through  the 
island  for  two  hours.  Then  he  thought  that  perhaps 
she   had   gone    home;    and    he  went  back   very  anx- 


YVETTE  35 

iously,  this  time  by  way  of  the  bridge.  A  servant 
dozing  on  a  chair  was  waiting  in  the  hall. 

Servigny  awakened  him  and  asked:  "Is  it  long 
since  Mademoiselle  Yvette  came  home  ?  I  left  her  at 
the  foot  of  the    place  because  I  had    a  call  to  make." 

And  the  valet  replied:  "Oh!  yes,  Monsieur,  Ma- 
demoiselle came  in  before  ten  o'clock." 

He  proceeded  to  his  room  and  went  to  bed.  But 
he  could  not  close  his  eyes.  That  stolen  kiss  had 
stirred  him  to  the  soul.  He  kept  wondering  what 
she  thought  and  what  she  knew.  How  pretty  and 
attractive  she  was! 

His  desires,  somewhat  wearied  by  the  life  he  led, 
by  all  his  procession  of  sweethearts,  by  all  his  explo- 
rations in  the  kingdom  of  love,  awoke  before  this  sin- 
gular child,  so  fresh,  irritating,  and  inexplicable.  He 
heard  one  o'clock  strike,  then  two.  He  could  not 
sleep  at  alL  He  was  warm,  he  felt  his  heart  beat 
and  his  temples  throb,  and  he  rose  to  open  the  win- 
dow. A  breath  of  fresh  air  came  in,  which  he  in- 
haled deeply.  The  thick  darkness  was  silent,  black, 
motionless.  But  suddenly  he  perceived  before  him, 
in  the  shadows  of  the  garden,  a  shining  point;  it 
seemed  a  little  red  coal. 

"Well,  a  cigar!"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  must 
be  Saval,"  and  he  called  softly:     "Leon!" 

"Is  it  you,  Jean?" 

"Yes.  Wait.  I'll  come  down."  He  dressed, 
went  out,  and  rejoining  his  friend  who  was  smok- 
ing astride  an  iron  chair,  inquired:  "What  are  you 
doing  here  at  this  hour?" 

"1  am  resting,"  Saval  replied.  And  he  began  to 
laugh. 


_56  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

Servigny  pressed  his  hand:  "My  compliments, 
my  dear  fellow.  And  as  for  me,  I  —  am  making  a 
fool  of  myself." 

"You  mean  —  " 

"I  mean  that  —  Yvette  and  her  mother  do  not 
resemble  each   other." 

"What  has  happened?    Tell  me." 

Servigny  recounted  his  attempts  and  their  failure. 
Then  he  resumed: 

"Decidedly,  that  little  girl  worries  me.  Fancy 
my  not  being  able  to  sleep!  What  a  queer  thing  a 
girl  is!  She  appears  to  be  as  simple  as  anything, 
and  yet  you  know  nothing  about  her.  A  woman 
who  has  lived  and  loved,  who  knows  hfe,  can  be 
quickly  understood.  But  when  it  comes  to  a  young 
virgin,  on  the  contrary,  no  one  can  guess  anything 
about  her.  At  heart  I  begin  to  think  that  she  is 
making  sport  of  me." 

Saval  tilted  his  chair.     He  said,  very  slowly: 

"Take  care,  my  dear  fellow,  she  will  lead  you  to 
marriage.  Remember  those  other  illustrious  exam- 
ples. It  was  just  by  this  same  process  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Montijo,  who  was  at  least  of  good  family, 
became  empress.     Don't  play  Napoleon." 

Servigny  murmured:  "As  for  that,  fear  nothing. 
I  am  neither  a  simpleton  nor  an  emperor.  A  man 
must  be  either  one  or  the  other  to  make  such  a  move 
as  that.     But  tell  me,  are  you  sleepy?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Will  you  take  a  walk  along  the  river?" 

"Gladly." 

They  opened  the  iron  g:ite  and  began  to  walk 
along  the  river  bank  toward  Marly. 


YVETTE 


37 


It  was  the  quiet  hour  which  precedes  dawn,  the 
hour  of  deep  sleep,  of  complete  rest,  of  profound 
peacefulness.  Even  the  gentle  sounds  of  the  night 
were  hushed.  The  nightingales  sang  no  longer;  the 
frogs  had  finished  their  hubbub;  some  kind  of  an 
animal  only,  probably  a  bird,  was  making  somewhere 
a  kind  of  sawing  sound,  feeble,  monotonous,  and  reg- 
ular as  a  machine.  Servigny,  who  had  moments  of 
poetry  and  of  philosophy  too,  suddenly  remarked; 

"Now  this  girl  completely  puzzles  me.  In  arith- 
metic, one  and  one  make  two.  In  love  one  and  one 
ought  to  make  one  but  they  make  two  just  the  same. 
Have  you  ever  felt  that?  That  need  of  absorbing  a 
woman  in  yourself  or  disappearing  in  her.?  I  am  not 
speaking  of  the  animal  embrace,  but  of  that  moral 
and  mental  eagerness  to  be  but  one  with  a  being,  to 
open  to  her  all  one's  heart  and  soul,  and  to  fathom 
her  thoughts  to  the  depths. 

"And  yet  you  can  never  lay  bare  all  the  fluctua- 
tions of  her  wishes,  desires,  and  opinions.  You  can 
never  guess,  even  slightly,  all  the  unknown  currents, 
all  the  mystery  of  a  soul  that  seems  so  near,  a  soul 
hidden  behind  two  eyes  that  look  at  you,  clear  as 
water,  transparent  as  if  there  were  nothing  beneath 
a  soul  which  talks  to  you  by  a  beloved  mouth,  which 
seems  your  very  own,  so  greatly  do  you  desire  it;  a 
soul  which  throws  you  by  words  its  thoughts,  one 
by  one,  and  which,  nevertheless,  remains  further 
away  from  you  than  those  stars  are  from  each  other, 
and  more  impenetrable.     Isn't  it  queer,  all  that.^" 

"I  don't  ask  so  much,"  Saval  rejoined.  "I  don't 
look  behmd  the  eyes.  I  care  little  for  the  contents. 
but  much  for  the  vessel." 


58  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

And  Servigny  replied:  "What  a  singular  person 
Yvette  is!     How  will  she  receive  me  this  morning?" 

As  they  reached  the  works  at  Marly  they  per- 
ceived that  the  sky  was  brightening.  The  cocks 
began  to  crow  in  the  poultry-yards.  A  bird  twittered 
in  a  park  at  the  left,  ceaselessly  reiterating  a  tender 
little  theme. 

"It  is  time  to  go  back,"  said  Saval. 

They  returned,  and  as  Servigny  entered  his  room, 
he  saw  the  horizon  all  pink  through  his  open  win- 
dows. 

Then  he  shut  the  blinds,  drew  the  thick,  heavy 
curtains,  went  back  to  bed  and  fell  asleep.  He 
dreamed  of  Yvette  all  through  his  slumber.  An  odd 
noise  awoke  him.  He  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  listened,  but  heard  nothing  further.  Then 
suddenly  there  was  a  crackling  against  the  blinds, 
like  falling  hail.  He  jumped  from  the  bed,  ran  to  the 
window,  opened  it,  and  saw  Yvette  standing  in  the 
path  and  throwing  handfuls  of  gravel  at  his  face. 
She  was  clad  in  pink,  with  a  wide-brimmed  straw 
hat  ornamented  with  a  mousquetaire  plume,  and  was 
laughing  mischievously. 

"Well!  Muscade,  are  you  asleep?  What  could 
you  have  been  doing  all  night  to  make  you  wake  so 
late  ?  Have  you  been  seeking  adventures,  my  poor 
Muscade  ?" 

He  was  dazzled  by  the  bright  daylight  striking  him 
full  in  the  eyes,  still  overwhelmed  with  fatigue,  and 
surprised  at  the  jesting  tranquillity  of  the  young  girl. 

"I'll  be  down  in  a  second,  Mam'zelle,"  he  an- 
swered. "Just  time  to  splash  my  face  with  water, 
and  I  will  join  you." 


YVETTE  y^ 

"Hurry,"  she  cried,  "it  is  ten  o'clock,  and  be- 
sides I  have  a  great  plan  to  unfold  to  you,  a  plot  we 
are  going  to  concoct.  You  know  that  we  breakfast 
at  eleven." 

He  found  her  seated  on  a  bench,  with  a  book  in 
her  lap,  some  novel  or  other.  She  took  his  arm  in 
a  familiar  and  friendly  way,  with  a  frank  and  gay 
manner,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  the  night  before, 
and  drew  him  toward  the  end  of  the  garden. 

"This  is  my  plan,"  she  said.  "We  will  disobey 
mamma,  and  you  shall  take  me  presently  to  La  Gre- 
nouillere  restaurant.  I  want  to  see  it.  Mamma  says 
that  decent  women  cannot  go  to  the  place.  Now  it 
is  all  the  same  to  me  whether  persons  can  go  there 
or  cannot.  You'll  take  me,  won't  you,  Muscade?  And 
we  will  have  a  great  time  —  with  the  boatmen." 

She  exhaled  a  delicious  fragrance,  although  he 
could  not  exactly  define  just  what  light  and  vague 
odor  enveloped  her.  It  was  not  one  of  those  heavy 
perfumes  of  her  mother,  but  a  discreet  breath  in 
which  he  fancied  he  could  detect  a  suspicion  of  iris 
powder,  and  perhaps  a  suggestion  of  vervain. 

Whence  emanated  that  indiscernible  perfume  ? 
From  her  dress,  her  hair,  or  her  skin  ?  He  puzzled 
over  this,  and  as  he  was  speaking  very  close  to  her, 
he  received  full  in  the  face  her  fresh  breath,  which 
seemed  to  him  just  as  delicious  to  inhale. 

Then  he  thought  that  this  evasive  perfume  which 
he  was  trying  to  recognize  was  perhaps  only  evoked 
by  her  charming  eyes,  and  was  merely  a  sort  of 
deceptive  emanation  of  her  young  and  alluring  grace. 

"That  is  agreed,  isn't  it,  Muscade?  As  it  will  be 
very  warm  after   breakfast,  mamma  will   not   go  out. 


40 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


She  always  feels  the  heat  very  much.  We  will  leave 
her  with  your  friend,  and  you  shall  take  me.  They 
will  think  that  we  have  gone  into  the  forest.  If 
you  knew  how  much  it  will  amuse  me  to  see  La 
Grenouillerel 

They  reached  the  iron  gate  opposite  the  Seine.  A 
flood  of  sunshine  fell  upon  the  slumberous,  shining 
river.  A  slight  heat-mist  rose  from  it,  a  sort  of  haze 
of  evaporated  water,  which  spread  over  the  surface 
of  the  stream  a  faint  gleaming  vapor. 

From  time  to  time,  boats  passed  by,  a  quick  yawl 
or  a  heavy  passage  boat,  and  short  or  long  whistles 
could  be  heard,  those  of  the  trains  which  every  Sun- 
day poured  the  citizens  of  Paris  into  the  suburbs,  and 
those  of  the  steamboats  signaling  their  approach  to 
pass  the  locks  at  Marly. 

But  a  tiny  bell  sounded.  Breakfast  was  announced, 
and  they  went  back  into  the  house.  The  repast  was 
a  silent  one.  A  heavy  July  noon  overwhelmed  the 
earth,  and  oppressed  humanity.  The  heat  seemed 
thick,  and  paralyzed  both  mind  and  body.  The 
sluggish  words  would  not  leave  the  lips,  and  all 
motion  seemed  laborious,  as  if  the  air  had  become  a 
resisting  medium,  difficult  to  traverse.  Only  Yvette, 
although  silent,  seemed  animated  and  nervous  with 
impatience.  As  soon  as  they  had  finished  the  last 
course  she  said: 

"If  we  were  to  go  for  a  walk  in  the  forest,  it 
would  be  deliciously  cool  under  the  trees." 

The  Marquise  murmured  with  a  listless  air:  "Are 
you  mad?    Does  anyone  go  out  in  such  weather?" 

And    the    young    girl,    delighted,    rejoined:     "Oh 
wein     We    will   leave   the   Baron   to   keep   you  com 


YVETTE 


41 


pany.  Muscade  and  I  will  climb  the  hill  and  sit  '^n 
the  grass  and  read." 

And  turning  toward  Servigny  she  asked:  "That 
is  understood  ?" 

"At  your  service,  Mam'zelle,"  he  replied. 

Yvette  ran  to  get  her  hat.  The  Marquise  shrugged 
her  shoulders  with  a  sigh.  "She  certainly  is  mad." 
she  said. 

Then  with  an  indolence  in  her  amorous  and  lazy 
gestures,  she  gave  her  pretty  white  hand  to  the  Baron, 
who  kissed  it  softly.  Yvette  and  Servigny  started. 
They  went  along  the  river,  crossed  the  bridge  and 
went  on  to  the  island,  and  then  seated  themselves  on 
the  bank,  beneath  the  willows,  for  it  was  too  scon  to 
go  to  La  Grenouillere. 

The  young  girl  at  once  drew  a  book  from  her 
pocket  and  smilingly  said:  "Muscade,  you  are  go- 
ing to  read  to  me."  And  she  handed  him  the  vol- 
ume. 

He  made  a  motion  as  if  of  fright.  "I,  Mam'zelle? 
I  don't  know  how  to  read!" 

She  replied  with  gravity:  "'Come,  no  excuses,  no 
objections;  you  are  a  fine  suitor,  you!  All  for  noth' 
ing,  is  that  it?    Is  that  your  motto?" 

He  took  the  book,  opened  it,  and  was  astonished. 
It  was  a  treatise  on  entomology.  A  history  of  ants 
by  an  English  author.  And  as  he  remained  inert, 
believing  that  he  was  making  sport  of  her,  she  said 
with  impatience:     "Well,  read!" 

"Is  it    a  wager,  or  just  a  simple  fad?"  he   asked. 

"No,  my  dear.  I  saw  that  book  in  a  shop»  They 
told  me  that  it  was  the  best  authority  on  ants  and  1 
thought  that  it  would  be  interesting   to   learn   about 


42 


WORKS  OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


the  life  of  these  little  insects  while  you  see  them  run- 
ning over  the  grass;  so  read,  if  you  please." 

She  stretched  herself  flat  upon  the  grass,  her  el- 
bows resting  upon  the  ground,  her  head  between  her 
hands,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  He  began  to 
read  as  follows: 

"The  anthropoid  apes  are  undoubtedly  the  animals  which  ap- 
proach nearest  to  man  by  their  anatomical  structure,  but  if  we  con- 
sider the  habits  of  the  ants,  their  organization  into  societies,  their  vast 
communities,  the  houses  and  roads  that  they  construct,  their  custom 
of  domesticating  animals,  and  sometimes  even  of  making  slaves  of 
them,  we  are  compelled  to  admit  that  they  have  the  right  to  claim  a 
place  near  to  man  in  the  scale  of  intelligence." 

He  continued  in  a  monotonous  voice,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  to  ask:     "Isn't  that  enough?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  having  caught  an  ant  on 
the  end  of  a  severed  blade  of  grass,  she  amused  her- 
self by  making  it  go  from  one  end  to  the  other  of 
the  sprig,  which  she  tipped  up  whenever  the  insect 
reached  one  of  the  ends.  She  listened  with  mute  and 
contented  attention  to  all  the  wonderful  details  of  the 
life  of  these  frail  creatures:  their  subterranean  homes; 
the  manner  in  which  they  seize,  shut  up,  and  feed 
plant-lice  to  drink  the  sweet  milk  which  they  secrete, 
as  we  keep  cows  in  our  barns;  their  custom  of  do- 
mesticating little  blind  insects  which  clean  the  ant- 
hills, and  of  going  to  war  to  capture  slaves  who  will 
take  care  of  their  victors  with  such  tender  solicitude 
that  the  latter  even  lose  the  habit  of  feeding  them- 
selves. 

And  little  by  little,  as  if  a  maternal  tenderness  had 
sprung  up  in  her  heart  for  the  poor  insect  which  was 


YVETTE 


43 


so  tiny  and  so  intelligent,  Yvette  made  it  climb  on  her 
finger,  looking  at  it  with  a  moved  expression;  almost 
wanting  to  embrace  it. 

And  as  Servigny  read  of  the  way  in  which  they  live 
in  communities,  and  play  games  of  strength  and  skill 
among  themselves,  the  young  girl  grew  enthusiastic 
and  sought  to  kiss  the  insect  which  escaped  her  and 
began  to  crawl  over  her  face.  Then  she  uttered  a 
piercing  cry,  as  if  she  had  been  threatened  by  a  ter- 
rible danger,  and  with  frantic  gestures  tried  to  brush 
it  off  her  face.  With  a  loud  laugh  Servigny  caught 
it  near  her  tresses  and  imprinted  on  the  spot  where 
he  had  seized  it  a  long  kiss  without  Yvette  withdraw- 
ing her  forehead. 

Then  she  exclaimed  as  she  rose:  "That  is  better 
than  a  novel.     Now  let  us  go  to  La  Grenouillere." 

They  reached  that  part  of  the  island  which  is  set 
out  as  a  park  and  shaded  with  great  trees.  Couples 
were  strolling  beneath  the  lofty  foliage  along  the 
Seine,  where  the  boats  were  gliding  by. 

The  boats  were  filled  with  young  people,  working- 
girls  and  their  sweethearts,  the  latter  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves, with  coats  on  their  arms,  tall  hats  tipped 
back,  and  a  jaded  look.  There  were  tradesmen  with 
their  families,  the  women  dressed  in  their  best  and 
ihe  children  flocking  like  little  chicks  about  their 
parents.  A  distant,  continuous  sound  of  voices,  a 
heavy,  scolding  clamor  announced  the  proximity  of 
the  establishment  so  dear  to  the  boatmen. 

Suddenly  they  saw  it.  It  was  a  huge  boat,  roofed 
over,  moored  to  the  bank.  On  board  were  many 
men  and  women  drinking  at  tables,  or  else  standing 
up,  shouting,  singing,  bandying   words,  dancing,  ca- 


44 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


pering,  to  the  sound  of  a  piano  which  was  groaning 
—  out  of  tune  and  rattling  as  an  old  kettle. 

Two  tall,  russet-haired,  half-tipsy  girls,  with  red 
lips,  were  talking  coarsely.  Others  were  dancing 
madly  with  young  fellows  half  clad,  dressed  like  jock- 
eys, in  linen  trousers  and  colored  caps.  The  odors 
of  a  crowd  and  of  rice-powder  were  noticeable. 

The  drinkers  around  the  tables  were  swallowing 
white,  red,  yellow,  and  green  liquids,  and  vociferat- 
ing at  the  top  of  their  lungs,  feeling  as  it  were,  the 
necessity  of  making  a  noise,  a  brutal  need  of  having 
their  ears  and  brains  filled  with  uproar.  Now  and 
then  a  swimmer,  standing  on  the  roof,  dived  into  the 
water,  splashing  the  nearest  guests,  who  yelled  like 
savages. 

On  the  stream  passed  the  flotillas  of  light  craft, 
long,  slender  wherries,  swiftly  rowed  by  bare-armed 
oarsmen,  whose  muscles  played  beneath  their  bronzed 
skin.  The  women  in  the  boats,  in  blue  or  red  flan- 
nel skirts,  with  umbrellas,  red  or  blue,  opened  over 
their  heads  and  gleaming  under  the  burning  sun, 
leaned  back  in  their  chairs  at  the  stern  of  the  boats, 
and  seemed  almost  to  float  upon  the  water,  in  mo- 
tionless and  slumberous  pose. 

The  heavier  boats  proceeded  slowly,  crowded  with 
people.  A  collegian,  wanting  to  show  off,  rowed 
like  a  windmill  against  all  the  other  boats,  bringing 
the  curses  of  their  oarsmen  down  upon  his  head,  and 
disappearing  in  dismay  after  almost  drowning  two 
swimmers,  followed  by  the  shouts  of  the  crowd 
thronging  in  the  great  floating  caf^. 

Yvette,  radiantly  happy,  taking  Servigny's  arm, 
went  into  the  midst  of  this  noisy  mob.     She   seemed 


YVETTE 


45 


to  enjoy  the  crowding,  and  stared  at  the  girls  with  a 
calm  and  gracious  glance. 

"Look  at  that  one,  Muscade,"  she  said.  "What 
pretty  hair  she  has!  They  seem  to  be  having  such 
funl" 

As  the  pianist,  a  boatman  dressed  in  red  with  a 
huge  straw  hat,  began  a  waltz,  Yvette  grasped  her 
companion  and  they  danced  so  long  and  madly  that 
everybody  looked  at  them.  The  guests,  standing  on 
the  tables,  kept  time  with  their  feet;  others  threw 
glasses,  and  the  musician,  seeming  to  go  mad,  struck 
the  ivory  keys  with  great  bangs,  swaying  his  whole 
body  and  swinging  his  head  covered  with  that  im- 
mense hat.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and,  slipping  to 
the  deck,  lay  flat,  beneath  his  head-gear,  as  if  dead 
with  fatigue.  A  loud  laugh  arose  and  everybody  ap- 
plauded. 

Four  friends  rushed  forward,  as  they  do  in  cases 
of  accident,  and  lifting  up  their  comrade,  they  car- 
ried him  by  his  four  limbs,  after  carefully  placing  his 
great  hat  on  his  stomach.  A  joker  following  them 
intoned  the  "De  Profundis,"  and  a  procession  formed 
and  threaded  the  paths  of  the  island,  guests  and 
strollers  and  everyone  they  met  falling  into  line. 

Yvette  darted  forward,  delighted,  laughing  with 
her  whole  heart,  chatting  with  everybody,  stirred  by 
the  movement  and  the  noise.  The  young  men  gazed 
at  her,  crowded  against  her,  seeming  to  devour  her 
with  their  glances;  and  Servigny  began  to  fear  lest 
the  adventure  should  terminate  badly. 

The  procession  still  kept  on  its  way,  hastening  its 
step;  for  the  four  bearers  had  taken  a  quick  pace, 
followed   by  the   yelling   crowd.     But   suddenly,  they 

7    G.  d«  M. — 17 


46  \ArORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

turned  toward  the  shore,  stopped  short  as  they 
reached  the  bank,  swung  their  comrade  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  all  four  acting  together,  flung  him 
into  the  river. 

A  great  shout  of  joy  rang  out  from  all  mouths, 
while  the  poor  pianist,  bewildered,  paddled,  swore, 
coughed,  and  spluttered,  and  though  sticking  in  the 
mud  managed  to  get  to  the  shore.  His  hat  which 
floated  down  the  stream  was  picked  up  by  a  boat. 

Yvette  danced  with  joy,  clapping  and  repeating. 
"Oh!  Muscade,  what  fun!  what  fun!" 

Servigny  looked  on,  having  become  serious,  a  lit- 
tle disturbed,  a  little  chilled  to  see  her  so  much  at 
her  ease  in  this  common  place.  A  sort  of  instinct 
revolted  in  him,  that  instinct  of  the  proper,  which  a 
well-born  man  always  preserves  even  when  he  casts 
himself  loose,  that  instinct  which  avoids  too  common 
familiarities  and  too  degrading  contacts.  Astonished, 
he  muttered  to  himself: 

"Egad!  Then  you  are  at  home  here, /are  you?" 
And  he  wanted  to  speak  familiarly  to  her,  as  a  man 
does  to  certain  women  the  first  time  he  meets  them. 
He  no  longer  distinguished  her  from  the  russet-haired, 
hoarscTVoiced  creatures  who  brushed  against  them. 
The  language  of  the  crowd  was  not  at  all  choice,  but 
nobody  seemed  shocked  or  surprised.  Yvette  did 
not  even  appear  to  notice  it. 

"Muscade,  I  want  to  go  in  bathing,"  she  said. 
"We'll  go  into  the  river  together." 

"At  your  service,"  said  he. 

They  went  to  the  bath-office  to  get  bathing-suits. 
She  was  ready  the  first,  and  stood  on  the  bank 
waiting    for  him,  smiling  on  everyone  who  looked  at 


YVETTE 


47 


her.  Then  side  by  side  they  went  into  the  luke- 
warm water. 

She  swam  with  pleasure,  with  intoxication,  ca- 
ressed by  the  wave,  throbbing  with  a  sensual  de- 
light, raising  herself  at  each  stroke  as  if  she  were 
going  to  spring  from  the  water.  He  followed  her 
with  difficulty,  breathless,  and  vexed  to  feel  himself 
mediocre  at  the  sport. 

But  she  slackened  her  pace,  and  then,  turning 
over  suddenly,  she  floated,  with  her  arms  folded  and 
her  eyes  wide  open  to  the  blue  sky.  He  observed, 
thus  stretched  out  on  the  surface  of  the  river,  the 
undulating  lines  of  her  form,  her  firm  neck  and 
shoulders,  her  slightly  submerged  hips,  and  bare 
ankles,  gleaming  in  the  water,  and  the  tiny  foot  that 
emerged. 

He  saw  her  thus  exhibiting  herself,  as  if  she  were 
doing  it  on  purpose,  to  lure  him  on,  or  again  to 
make  sport  of  him.  And  he  began  to  long  for  her 
with  a  passionate  ardor  and  an  exasperating  impa- 
tience. Suddenly  she  turned,  looked  at  him,  and  burst 
into  laughter. 

"You  have  a  fine  head,"  she  said. 

He  was  annoyed  at  this  bantering,  possessed  with 
the  anger  of  a  baffled  lover.  Then  yielding  brusquely 
to  a  half  felt  desire  for  retaliation,  a  desire  to  avenge 
himself,  to  wound  her,  he  said: 

"Well,  does  this  sort  of  life  suit  you?" 

She  asked  with  an  artless  air:  "What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"Oh,  come,  don't  make  game  of  me.  You  know 
well  enough  what  1  mean!" 

"No,  I  don't,  on  my  word  of  honor." 


48  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Oh,  let  us  stop  this  comedy!  Will  you  or  will 
you  not?" 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"You  are  not  as  stupid  as  all  that;  besides  I  told 
you  last  night." 

"Told  me  what?     I  have  forgotten.'" 

"That  1  love  you." 

"You?" 

"Yes." 

"What  nonsense!" 

"  1  swear  it." 

"  Then  prove  it." 

"That  is  all  1  ask." 

"What  is?" 

"To  prove  it." 

"Well,  do  so." 

"But  you  did  not  say  so  last  night." 

"You  did  not  ask  anything." 

"What  absurdity!" 

"And  besides  it  is  not  to  me  to  whom  you  should 
make  your  proposition." 

"To  whom,  then?" 

"Why,  to  mamma,  of  course." 

He  burst  into  laughter.  "To  your  mother.  No, 
that  is  too  much! " 

She  had  suddenly  become  very  grave,  and  looking 
him  straight  in  the  eyes,  said: 

"Listen,  Muscade,  if  you  really  love  me  enough 
to  marry  me,  speak  to  mamma  first,  and  1  will  an- 
swer you  afterward." 

He  thought  she  was  still  making  sport  of  him, 
and  angrily  replied:  "Mam'zelle,  you  must  betaking 
me  for  somebody  else." 


YVETTE  4^ 

She  kept  looking  at  him  with  her  soft,  clear  eyes. 
She  hesitated  and  then  said: 

"1  don't  understand  you  at  all." 

Then  he  answered  quickly  with  somewhat  of  ill 
nature  in  his  voice: 

"Come  now,  Yvette,  let  us  cease  this  absurd 
comedy,  which  has  already  lasted  too  long.  You  are 
playing  the  part  of  a  simple  little  girl,  and  the  role 
does  not  fit  you  at  all,  believe  me.  You  know  per- 
fectly well  that  there  can  be  no  question  of  marriage 
between  us,  but  merely  of  love.  I  have  told  you 
that  1  love  you.  It  is  the  truth.  I  repeat,  I  love 
you.  Don't  pretend  any  longer  not  to  understand 
me,  and  don't  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  fool." 

They  were  face  to  face,  treading  water,  merely 
moving  their  hands  a  little,  to  steady  themselves. 
She  was  still  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  could  not  make 
out  the  meaning  of  his  words,  then  she  suddenly 
blushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  Her  whole  face 
grew  purple  from  her  neck  to  her  ears,  which  be- 
came almost  violet,  and  without  answering  a  word 
she  fled  toward  the  shore,  swimming  with  all  her 
strength  with  hasty  strokes.  He  could  not  keep 
up  with  her  and  panted  with  fatigue  as  he  fol- 
lowed. He  saw  her  leave  the  water,  pick  up  her 
cloak,  and  go  to  her  dressing-room  without  looking 
back. 

It  took  him  a  long  time  to  dress,  very  much  per- 
plexed as  to  what  he  ought  to  do,  puzzled  over  what 
he  should  say  to  her,  and  wondering  whether  he 
ought  to  excuse  himself  or  persevere.  When  he  was 
ready,  she  had  gone  away  all  alone.  He  went  back 
slowly,  anxious  and  disturbed. 


50 


WORKS   OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


The  Marquise  was  strolling,  on  Saval's  arm,  in 
the  circular  path  around  the  lawn.  As  she  observed 
Servigny,  she  said,  with  that  careless  air  which  she 
had  maintained  since  the  night  before: 

"I  told  you  not  to  go  out  in  such  hot  weather. 
And  now  Yvette  has  come  back  almost  with  a  sun 
stroke.  She  has  gone  to  lie  down.  She  was  as  red 
as  a  poppy,  the  poor  child,  and  she  has  a  frightful 
headache.  You  must  have  been  walking  in  the  full 
sunlight,  or  you  must  have  done  something  foolish. 
You  are  as  unreasonable  as  she." 

The  young  girl  did  not  come  down  to  dinner. 
When  they  wanted  to  send  her  up  something  to  eat 
she  called  through  the  door  that  she  was  not  hungry, 
for  she  had  shut  herself  in,  and  she  begged  that  they 
would  leave  her  undisturbed.  The  two  young  men 
left  by  the  ten  o'clock  train,  promising  to  return  the 
following  Thursday,  and  the  Marquise  seated  herself 
at  the  open  window  to  dream,  hearing  in  the  dis- 
tance the  orchestra  of  the  boatmen's  ball,  with  its 
sprightly  music,  in  the  deep  and  solemn  silence  of 
the  night. 

Swayed  by  love  as  a  person  is  moved  by  a  fond- 
ness for  horses  or  boating,  she  was  subject  to  sudden 
tendernesses  which  crept  over  her  like  a  disease. 
These  passions  took  possession  of  her  suddenly,  pene- 
trated her  entire  being,  maddened  her,  enervated  or 
overwhelmed  her,  in  measure  as  they  were  of  an  ex- 
alted, violent,  dramatic,  or  sentimental  character. 

She  was  one  of  those  women  who  are  created  to 
love  and  to  be  loved.  Starting  from  a  very  low  sta- 
tion in  life,  she  had  risen  in  her  adventurous  career, 
acting    instinctively,    with   inborn   cleverness,  accept 


YVETTE 


51 


ing  money  and  kisses,  naturally,  without  distin- 
guishing between  them,  employing  her  extraordinary 
ability  in  an  unthinking  and  simple  fashion.  From  all 
her  experiences  she  had  never  known  either  a  genuine 
tenderness  or  a  great  repulsion. 

She  had  had  various  friends,  for  she  had  to  live, 
as  in  traveling  a  person  eats  at  many  tables.  But  oc- 
casionally her  heart  took  fire,  and  she  really  fell  in 
love,  which  state  lasted  for  some  weeks  or  months, 
according  to  conditions.  These  were  the  delicious 
moments  of  her  life,  for  she  loved  with  all  her  soul. 
She  cast  herself  upon  love  as  a  person  throws  him- 
self into  the  river  to  drown  himself,  and  let  herself 
be  carried  away,  ready  to  die,  if  need  be,  intoxicated, 
maddened,  infinitely  happy.  She  imagined  each  time 
that  she  never  had  experienced  anything  like  such  an 
attachment,  and  she  would  have  been  greatly  aston- 
ished if  some  one  had  told  her  of  how  many  men 
she  had  dreamed  whole  nights  through,  looking  at 
the  stars. 

Saval  had  captivated  her,  body  and  soul.  She 
dreamed  of  him,  lulled  by  his  face  and  his  memory, 
in  the  calm  exaltation  of  consummated  love,  of  present 
and  certain  happiness. 

A  sound  behind  her  made  her  turn  around.  Yvette 
had  just  entered,  still  in  her  daytime  dress,  but  pale, 
with  eyes  glittering,  as  sometimes  is  the  case  after 
some  great  fatigue.  She  leaned  on  the  sill  of  the  open 
window,  facing  her  mother. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said. 

The  Marquise  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  She 
loved  her  like  an  egotistical  mother,  proud  of  her 
beauty,  as  a  person  is  proud  of  a  fortune,  too   pretty 


52 


WORKS   OF  GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


Still  herself  to  become  jealous,  too  indifferent  to  plan 
the  schemes  with  which  they  charged  her,  too  clever, 
nevertheless,  not  to  have  full  consciousness  of  her 
daughter's  value, 

"I  am  listening,  my  child,"  she  said;  "what  is  it?" 

Yvette  gave  her  a  piercing  look,  as  if  to  read  the 
depths  of  her  soul  and  to  seize  all  the  sensations 
which  her  words  might  awake. 

"  It  is  this.  Something  strange  has  just  hap- 
pened." 

"What  can  it  be?" 

"Monsieur  de  Servigny  has  told  me  that  he  loves 
me." 

The  Marquise,  disturbed,  waited  a  moment,  and, 
as  Yvette  said  nothing  more,  she  asked: 

"How  did   he   tell   you   that?    Explain   yourselfl" 

Then  the  young  girl,  sitting  at  her  mother's  feet, 
in  a  coaxing  attitude  common  with  her,  and  clasping 
her  hands,  added: 

"He  asked  me  to   marry  him." 

Madame  Obardi  made  a  sudden  gesture  ot  stupe- 
faction and  cried: 

"Servigny!     Why!  you  are  crazy!" 

Yvette  had  not  taken  her  eyes  off  her  mother's 
face,  watching  her  thoughts  and  her  surprise.  She 
asked  with  a  serious  voice: 

"Why  am  I  crazy?  Why  should  not  Monsieur 
de  Servigny  marry  me?" 

The  Marquise,  embarrassed,  stammered: 

"You  are  mistaken,  it  is  not  possible.  You  either 
did  not  hear  or  did  not  understand.  Monsieur  de 
SeA'igny  is  too  rich  for  you,  and  too  much  of  a 
Parisian  to  marry." 


YVETTE 


53 


Yvette  rose  softly.  She  added:  "  But  if  he  loves 
me  as  he  says  he  does,   mamma?" 

Her  mother  replied,  with  some  impatience:  "I 
thought  you  big  enough  and  wise  enough  not  to 
have  such  ideas.  Servigny  is  a  man-about-town  and 
an  egotist.  He  will  never  marry  anyone  but  a  woman 
of  his  set  and  his  fortune.  If  he  asked  you  in  mar- 
riage, it  is  only  that  he  wants — " 

The  Marquise,  incapable  of  expressing  her  mean- 
ing, was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  continued:  "Come 
now,  leave  me  alone  and  go  to  bed." 

And  the  young  girl,  as  if  she  had  learned  what 
she  sought  to  find  out,  answered  in  a  docile  voice: 
"Yes,  mamma!" 

She  kissed  her  mother  on  the  forehead  and  with- 
drew with  a  calm  step.  As  she  reached  the  door, 
the  Marquise  called  out:  "And  your  sunstroke?" 
she  said. 

"I  did  not  have  one  at  all.  It  was  that  which 
caused  everything." 

The  Marquise  added:  "We  will  not  speak  of  it 
again.  Only  don't  stay  alone  with  him  for  some  time 
from  now,  and  be  very  sure  that  he  will  never  marry 
you,  do  you  understand,  and  that  he  merely  means 
to  —  compromise  you." 

She  could  not  find  better  words  to  express  her 
thought.  Yvette  went  to  her  room.  Madame  Obardi 
began  to  dream.  Living  for  years  in  an  opulent  and 
loving  repose,  she  had  carefully  put  aside  all  reflec- 
tions which  might  annoy  or  sadden  her.  Never  had 
she  been  willing  to  ask  herself  the  question  —  What 
would  become  of  Yvette  ?  It  would  be  soon  enough 
to  think  about  the  difficulties  when  they  arrived.     She 


54  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

well  knew,  from  her  experience,  that  her  daughter 
could  not  marry  a  man  who  was  rich  and  of  good 
society,  excepting  by  a  totally  improbable  chance,  by 
one  of  those  surprises  of  love  which  place  adven- 
turesses on  thrones 

She  had  not  considered  it,  furthermore,  being  too 
much  occupied  with  herself  to  make  any  plans  which 
did  not  directly  concern  herself, 

Yvette  would  do  as  her  mother,  undoubtedly.  She 
would  lead  a  gay  life.  Why  not?  But  the  Marquise 
had  rever  dared  ask  when,  or  how.  That  would  all 
come  about  in  time. 

And  now  her  daughter,  all  of  a  sudden,  without 
warning,  had  asked  one  of  those  questions  which 
could  not  be  answered,  forcing  her  to  take  an  attitude 
in  an  affair,  so  delicate,  so  dangerous  in  every  re- 
spect, and  so  disturbing  to  the  conscience  which  a 
woman  is  expected  to  show  in  matters  concerning 
her  daughter. 

Sometimes  nodding  but  never  asleep,  she  had  too 
much  natural  astuteness  to  be  deceived  a  minute 
about  Servigny's  intentions,  for  she  knew  men  by  ex- 
perience, and  especially  men  of  that  set.  So  at  the 
first  words  uttered  by  Yvette,  she  had  cried  almost 
in  spite  of  herself-  "Servigny,  marry  you?  You  are 
crazy  I" 

How  had  he  come  to  employ  that  old  method,  he, 
that  sharp  man  of  the  world?  What  would  he  do 
now?  And  she,  the  young  girl,  how  should  she 
warn  her  more  clearly  and  even  forbid  her,  for  she 
might  make  great  mistakes.  Would  anyone  have 
believed  that  this  big  girl  had  remained  so  artless,  so 
»11  informed,  so  guileless? 


VVETTE  55 

And  the  Marquise,  greatly  perplexed  and  already 
wearied  with  her  reflections,  endeavored  to  make  up 
her  mind  what  to  do  without  finding  a  solution  of 
the  problem,  for  the  situation  seemed  to  her  very  em- 
barrassing.    Worn  out  with  this  worry,  she  thought: 

"I  will  watch  them  more  clearly,  !  will  act  ac- 
cording to  circumstances.  If  necessary,  I  will  speak 
to  Servigny,  who  is  sharp  and  will  take  a  hint." 

She  did  not  think  out  what  she  should  say  to 
him,  nor  what  he  would  answer,  nor  what  sort  of  an 
understanding  could  be  established  between  them, 
but  happy  at  being  relieved  of  this  care  without  hav- 
ing had  to  make  a  decision,  she  resumed  her  dreams 
of  the  handsome  Saval,  and  turning  toward  that  misty 
light  which  hovers  over  Paris,  she  threw  kisses  with 
both  hands  toward  the  great  city,  rapid  kisses  which 
she  tossed  into  the  darkness,  one  after  the  other, 
without  counting;  and,  very  low,  as  if  she  were 
talkmg  to  Saval  still,  she  murmured: 

"I  love  you,  I  love  your* 


CHAPTER  in. 


Enlightenment 


Y 


VETTE,  also,  could  not  sleep.    Like 
her  mother,  she  leaned  upon  the 
sill    of  the    open    window,    and 
tears,  her  first    bitter  tears,  filled    her 
eyes.     Up  to  this  time  she  had  lived, 
had    grown  up,  in    the  heedless   and 
serene  confidence  of  happy  youth.  Why 
should  she  have  dreamed,  reflected,  puz- 
zled?   Why  should  she   not    have   been  a 
young  girl,  like  all  other  young  girls?  Why 
j^u-rx^     should   a   doubt,    a   fear,  or   painful   suspicion 
^y:^     have  come  to  her? 

■^  .^  She  seemed  posted  on  all  topics  because  she 
had  a  way  of  talking  on  all  subjects,  because  she 
had  taken  the  tone,  demeanor,  and  words  of  the  people 
who  lived  around  her.  But  she  really  knew  no  more 
than  a  little  girl  raised  in  a  convent;  her  audacities 
of  speech  came  from  her  memory,  from  that  uncon- 
scious faculty  of  imitation  and  assimilation  which 
women  possess,  and  not  from  a  mind  instructed  and 
emboldened. 

She    spoke   of  love    as   the    son  of  a    painter  or  a 
musician    would,    at   the  age    of  ten  or  twelve  years, 
(56) 


YVETTE 


57 


speak  of  painting  or  music.  She  knew  or  rather 
suspected  very  well  what  sort  of  mystery  this  word 
concealed, — too  many  jokes  had  been  whispered  be- 
fore her,  for  her  innocence  not  to  be  a  trifle  enlight- 
ened,—  but  how  could  she  have  drawn  the  conclusion 
from  all  this,  that  all  families  did  not   resemble  hers  ? 

They  kissed  her  mother's  hand  with  the  sem- 
blance of  respect;  all  their  friends  had  titles;  they  all 
were  rich  or  seemed  to  be  so;  they  all  spoke  famil- 
iarly of  the  princes  of  the  royal  line.  Two  sons  of 
kings  had  even  come  often,  in  the  evening,  to  the 
Marquise's  house.     How  should  she  have  known  ? 

And,  then,  she  was  naturally  artless.  She  did  not 
estimate  or  sum  up  people  as  her  mother  did.  She 
lived  tranquilly,  too  joyous  in  her  life  to  worry  her- 
self about  what  might  appear  suspicious  to  creatures 
more  calm,  thoughtful,  reserved,  less  cordial,  and 
sunny. 

But  now,  all  at  once,  Servigny,  by  a  few  words, 
the  brutality  of  which  she  felt  without  understanding 
them,  awakened  in  her  a  sudden  disquietude,  unrea- 
soning at  first,  but  which  grew  into  a  tormenting 
apprehension.  She  had  fled  home,  had  escaped  like  a 
wounded  animal,  wounded  in  fact  most  deeply  by 
those  words  which  she  ceaselessly  repeated  to  get  all 
their  sense  and  bearing:  "You  know  very  well  that 
there  can  be  no  question  of  marriage  between  us  — 
but  only  of  love." 

What  did  he  mean?  And  why  this  insult?  Was 
she  then  in  ignorance  of  something,  some  secret, 
some  shame  ?  She  was  the  only  one  ignorant  of  it. 
no  doubt.  But  what  could  she  do?  She  was  fright- 
ened, startled,  as  a  person  is  when  he  discovers  some 


58 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


hidden  infamy,  some  treason  of  a  beloved  friend,  one 
of  those  heart-disasters  which  crush. 

She  dreamed,  reflected,  puzzled,  wept,  consumed 
by  fears  and  suspicions.  Then  her  joyous  young  soul 
reassuring  itself,  she  began  to  plan  an  adventure,  to 
imagine  an  abnormal  and  dramatic  situation,  founded 
on  the  recollections  of  all  the  poetical  romances  she 
had  read.  She  recalled  all  the  moving  catastrophes, 
or  sad  and  touching  stories;  she  jumbled  them  to- 
gether, and  concocted  a  story  of  her  own  with  which 
she  interpreted  the  half-understood  mystery  which 
enveloped  her  hfe. 

She  was  no  longer  cast  down.  She  dreamed,  she 
lifted  veils,  she  imagined  unlikely  complications,  a 
thousand  singular,  terrible  things,  seductive,  neverthe- 
less, by  their  very  strangeness.  Could  she  be,  by 
chance,  the  natural  daughter  of  a  prince  ?  Had  her 
poor  mother,  betrayed  and  deserted,  made  Marquise 
by  some  king,  perhaps  King  Victor  Emmanuel,  been 
obliged  to  take  flight  before  the  anger  of  the  family  ? 
Was  she  not  rather  a  child  abandoned  by  its  relations, 
who  were  noble  and  illustrious,  the  fruit  of  a  clan- 
destine love,  taken  in  by  the  Marquise,  who  had 
adopted  and  brought  her  up  ? 

Still  other  suppositions  passed  through  her  mind. 
She  accepted  or  rejected  them  according  to  the  dic- 
tates of  her  fancy.  She  was  moved  to  pity  over  her 
own  case,  happy  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  sad 
also,  taking  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  becoming  a  sort 
of  a  heroine  of  a  book  who  must  assume  a  nuble 
attitude,  worthy  of  herself. 

She  laid  out  the  part  she  must  play,  according  to 
events    at  which    she   guessed.     She  vaguely  outlined 


YVETTE 


59 


this  role,  like  one  of  Scribe's  or  of  George  Sand's, 
it  should  be  endued  with  devotion,  self-abnegation, 
greatness  of  soul,  tenderness,  and  fine  words.  Her 
pliant  nature  almost  rejoiced  in  this  new  attitude. 
She  pondered  almost  till  evening  what  she  should  do, 
wondering  how  she  should  manage  to  wrest  the 
truth  from  the  Marquise. 

And  when  night  came,  favorable  to  tragic  situa- 
tions, she  had  thought  out  a  simple  and  subtile  trick 
to  obtain  what  she  wanted:  it  was,  brusquely,  to  say 
that  Servigny  had  asked  for  her  hand  in  marriage. 

At  this  news,  Madame  Obardi,  taken  by  surprise, 
would  certainly  let  a  word  escape  her  lips,  a  cry 
which  would  throw  light  into  the  mind  of  her 
daughter.     And  Yvette  had  accomplished  her  plan. 

She  expected  an  explosion  of  astonishment,  an  ex- 
pansion of  love,  a  confidence  full  of  gestures  and 
tears.  But,  instead  of  this,  her  mother,  without  ap- 
pearing stupefied  or  grieved,  had  only  seemed  bored; 
and  from  the  constrained,  discontented,  and  worried 
tone  in  which  she  had  replied,  the  young  girl,  in 
whom  there  suddenly  awaked  all  the  astuteness, 
keenness,  and  sharpness  of  a  woman,  understanding 
that  she  must  not  msist,  that  the  mystery  was  of  an- 
other nature,  that  it  would  be  painful  to  her  to  learn 
it,  and  that  she  must  puzzle  it  out  all  alone,  had  gone 
back  to  her  room,  her  heart  oppressed,  her  soul  in 
distress,  possessed  now  with  the  apprehensions  of  a 
real  misfortune,  without  knowing  exactly  either 
whence  or  why  this  emotion  came  to  her.  So  she 
wept,  leaning  at  the  window. 

She  wept  long,  not  dreaming  of  anything  now, 
not  seeking  to   discover  anything  more,  and  little  by 


6o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

little,  weariness  overcoming  her,  she  closed  her  eyes. 
She  dozed  for  a  few  minutes,  with  that  deep  sleep  of 
people  who  are  tired  out  and  have  not  the  energy  to 
undress  and  go  to  bed,  that  heavy  sleep,  broken  by 
dreams,  when  the  head  nods  upon  the  breast. 

She  did  not  go  to  bed  until  the  first  break  of  day, 
when  the  cold  of  the  morning,  chilling  her,  compelled 
her  to  leave  the  window. 

The  next  day  and  the  day  after,  she  maintained  a 
reserved  and  melancholy  attitude.  Her  thoughts  were 
busy;  she  was  learning  to  spy  out,  to  guess  at  con- 
clusions, to  reason.  A  light,  still  vague,  seemed  to 
illumine  men  and  things  around  her  in  a  new  manner; 
she  began  to  entertain  suspicions  against  all,  against 
everything  that  she  had  believed,  against  her  mother. 
She  imagined  all  sorts  of  things  during  these  two 
days.  She  considered  all  the  possibilities,  taking  the 
most  extreme  resolutions  with  the  suddenness  of  her 
changeable  and  unrestrained  nature.  Wednesday  she 
hit  upon  a  plan,  an  entire  schedule  of  conduct  and  a 
system  of  spying.  She  rose  Thursday  morning  with 
the  resolve  to  be  very  sharp  and  armed  against  every- 
body. 

She  determined  even  to  take  for  her  motto  these 
two  words:  "Myself  alone,"  and  she  pondered  for  more 
than  an  hour  how  she  should  arrange  them  to  pro- 
duce a  good  effect  engraved  about  her  crest,  on  her 
writing  paper. 

Saval  and  Servigny  arrived  at  ten  o'clock.  The 
young  girl  gave  her  hand  with  reserve,  without  em- 
barrassment, and  in  a  tone,  familiar  though  grave, 
she  said: 

"Good  morning,   Muscade,  are  you  well?" 


YVETTE  6l 

"Good  morning,  Mam'zelle,  fairly,  thanks,  and 
you?"  He  was  watching  her.  "What  comedy  will 
she  play  me,"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  Marquise  having  taken  Saval's  arm,  he  took 
Yvette's,  and  they  began  to  stroll  about  the  lawn, 
appearing  and  disappearing  every  minute,  behind  the 
clumps  of  trees. 

Yvette  walked  with  a  thoughtful  air,  looking  at 
the  gravel  of  the  pathway,  appearing  hardly  to  hear 
what  her  companion  said  and  scarcely  answering 
him. 

Suddenly  she  asked:  "Are  you  truly  my  friend, 
Muscade  ?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Mam'zelle." 

"But  truly,  truly,  now?" 

"Absolutely  your  friend,  Mam'zelle,  body  and 
soul." 

"Even  enough  of  a  friend  not  to  lie  to  me  once, 
just  once  ?" 

"Even  twice,  if  necessary." 

"Even  enough  to  tell  me  the  absolute,  exact 
truth?" 

"Yes,  Mam'zelle." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think,  way  down  in  your 
heart,  of  the  Prince  of  Kravalow?" 

"Ah,  the  devil!" 

"You  see   that  you  are  already  preparing  to  lie." 

"Not  at  all,  but  I  am  seeking  the  words,  the 
proper  words.  Great  Heavens,  Prince  Kravalow  is  a 
Russian,  who  speaks  Russian,  who  was  born  in  Rus- 
sia, who  has  perhaps  had  a  passport  to  come  to 
France,  and  about  whom  there  is  nothing  false  but 
his  name  and  title." 

7    G.  deAL— 18 


62  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  looked  him  in  the  eyes:  "You  mean  that  he 
is  —  ?" 

"An  adventurer,  Mam'zelle," 

"Thank  you,  and  Chevalier  Valreali  is  no  bet- 
ter?" 

"You  have  hit  it." 

"And  Monsieur  de  Belvigne?" 

"With  him  it  is  a  different  thing.  He  is  of  pro- 
vincial society,  honorable  up  to  a  certain  point,  but 
only  a  little  scorched  from  having  Hved  too  rapidly." 

"And  you?" 

"1  am  what  they  call  a  butterfly,  a  man  of  good 
family,  who  had  intelligence  and  who  has  squandered 
it  in  making  phrases,  who  had  good  health  and  who 
has  injured  it  by  dissipation,  who  had  some  worth 
perhaps  and  who  has  scattered  it  by  doing  nothing. 
There  is  left  to  me  a  certain  knowledge  of  life,  a 
complete  absence  of  prejudice,  a  large  contempt  for 
mankind,  including  women,  a  very  deep  sentiment  of 
the  uselessness  of  my  acts  and  a  vast  tolerance  for 
the  mob. 

"Nevertheless,  at  times,  I  can  be  frank,  and  I  am 
even  capable  of  affection,  as  you  could  see,  if  you 
would.  With  these  defects  and  qualities  1  place  my- 
self at  your  orders,  Mam'zelle,  morally  and  physically, 
to  do  what  you  please  with  me." 

She  did  not  laugh;  she  hstened,  weighing  his 
words  and  his  intentions;  then  she  resumed: 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Countess  de  Lammy?" 

He    replied,    vivaciously:     "You    will    permit    me 
not  to  give  my  opinion  about  the  women." 
"About  none  of  them  ?  " 
"About  none  of  them." 


YVETTE 


63 


"Then  you  must  have  a  bad  opinion  of  them 
all.  Come,  think;  won't  you  mai<e  a  single  excep- 
tion?" 

He  sneered  wiih  that  insolent  air  which  he  gen- 
erally wore;  and  with  that  brutal  audacity  which  he 
used  as  a  weapon,  he  said:  "Present  company  is 
always  excepted  " 

She  blushed  a  little,  but  calmly  asked:  "Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  me?" 

"  You  want  me  to  tell.  Well,  so  be  it.  I  think 
you  are  a  young  person  of  good  sense,  and  practical- 
ness, or  if  you  prefer,  of  good  practical  sense,  who 
knows  very  well  how  to  arrange  her  pastime,  to 
amuse  people,  to  hide  her  viev/s.  to  lay  her  snares, 
and  who,  without  hurrying,  awaits  events." 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked. 

"That's  all." 

Then  she  said  with  a  serious  earnestness:  "1 
shall  make  you  change  that  opinion,  Muscade." 

Then  she  joined  her  mother,  who  was  proceeding 
with  short  steps,  her  head  down,  with  that  manner 
assumed  in  talking  very  low,  v/hile  walking,  of  very 
intimate  and  very  sweet  things.  As  she  advanced  she 
drew  shapes  in  the  sand,  letters  perhaps,  with  the 
point  of  her  sunshade,  and  she  spoke,  without  look- 
ing at  Saval,  long,  softly,  leaning  on  his  arm,  pressed 
against  him. 

Yvette  suddenly  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her,  and  a 
suspicion,  rather  a  feeling  than  a  doubt,  passed  through 
her  mind  as  a  shadow  of  a  cloud  driven  by  the  wind 
passes  over  the  ground. 

The  bell  rang  for  breakfast.  It  was  silent  and 
almost  gloomy.    There  was  a  storm  in  ihe  air.    Great 


64  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT 

soIJcl  clouds  rested  upon  the  horizon,  mute  and  heavy, 
but  charged  with  a  tempest.  As  soon  as  they  had 
taken  their  coffee  on  the  terrace,  the  Marquise  asked: 

"Well,  darling,  are  you  going  to  take  a  walk  to- 
day with  your  friend  Servigny  ?  It  is  a  good  time  to 
enjoy  the  coolness  under  the  trees," 

Yvette  gave  her  a  quick  glance. 

"No,   mamma,  I  am  not  going  out  to-day." 

The  Marquise  appeared  annoyed,  and  insisted. 
"Oh,  go  and  take  a  stroll,  my  child,  it  is  excellent 
for  you." 

Then  Yvette  distinctly  said:  "No,  mamma,  1  shall 
stay  in  the  house  to-day,  and  you  know  very  well 
why,  because  1  told  you  the  other  evening." 

Madame  Obardi  gave  it  no  further  thought,  pre- 
occupied with  the  thought  of  remaining  alone  with 
Saval.  She  blushed  and  was  annoyed,  disturbed  on 
her  own  account,  not  knowing  how  she  could  find  a 
free  hour  or  two.     She  stammered: 

"It  is  true.  1  was  not  thinking  of  it.  I  don't 
know  where  my  head  is." 

And  Yvette  taking  up  some  embroidery,  which 
she  called  "the  public  safety,"  and  at  which  she 
worked  five  or  six  times  a  year,  on  dull  days,  seated 
herself  on  a  low  chair  near  her  mother,  while  the 
two  young  men,  astride  folding-chairs,  smoked  their 
cigars. 

The  hours  passed  in  a  languid  conversation.  The 
Marquise  fidgety,  cast  longing  glances  at  Saval,  seek- 
ing some  pretext,  some  means,  of  getting  rid  of  her 
daughter.  She  finally  realized  that  she  would  not 
succeed,  and  not  knowing  what  ruse  to  employ,  she 
said  to  Servigny: 


YVETTE  65 

"You  know,  my  dear  Duke,  that  I  am  going  to 
keep  you  both  this  evening.  To-morrow  we  shall 
breakfast  at  the  Fournaise  restaurant,  at  Chaton." 

He  understood,  smiled,  and  bowed:  "I  am  at 
your  orders,  Marquise." 

The  day  wore  on  slowly  and  painfully  under  the 
threatenings  of  the  storm.  The  hour  for  dinner 
gradually  approached.  The  heavy  sky  was  filled  with 
slow  and  heavy  clouds.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
air  stirring.  The  evening  meal  was  silent,  too.  An 
oppression,  an  embarrassment,  a  sort  of  vague  fear, 
seemed  to  make  the  two  men  and  the  two  women 
mute. 

When  the  covers  were  removed,  they  sat  long 
upon  the  terrace ;  only  speaking  at  long  intervals. 
Night  fell,  a  sultry  night.  Suddenly  the  horizon  was 
torn  by  an  immense  flash  of  lightning,  which  illu- 
mined with  a  dazzling  and  wan  light  the  four  faces 
shrouded  in  darkness.  Then  a  far-oflF  sound,  heavy 
and  feeble,  like  the  rumbling  of  a  carriage  upon  a 
bridge,  passed  over  the  earth;  and  it  seemed  that  the 
heat  of  the  atmosphere  increased,  that  the  air  sud- 
denly became  more  oppressive,  and  the  silence  of  the 
evening  deeper. 

Yvette  rose.  "1  am  going  to  bed,"  she  said, 
"the  storm  makes  me  ill." 

And  she  offered  her  brow  to  the  Marquise,  gave 
her  hand  to  the  two  young  men,  and  withdrew. 

As  her  room  was  just  above  the  terrace,  the  leaves 
of  a  great  chestnut-tree  growing  before  the  door  soon 
gleamed  with  a  green  hue,  and  Servigny  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  this  pale  light  in  the  foliage,  in  which 
at   times   he   thought    he   saw   a   shadow   pass.     But 


66  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

suddenly  the  light  went  out.  Madame  Obardi  gave  a 
great  sigh. 

"My  daughter  has  gone  to  bed,"  she  said. 

Servigny  rose,  saying:  "I  am  going  to  do  as 
much,  Marquise,  if  you  will  permit  me."  He  kissed 
the  hand  she  held  out  to  him  and  disappeared  in  turn. 

She  was  left  alone  with  Saval,  in  the  night.  In  a 
moment  she  was  clasped  in  his  arms.  Then, 
although  he  tried  to  prevent  her,  she  kneeled  before 
him  murmuring:  "I  want  to  see  you  by  the  light- 
ning flashes." 

But  Yvette,  her  candle  snuffed  out,  had  returned 
to  her  balcony,  barefoot,  gliding  like  a  shadow,  and 
she  listened,  consumed  by  an  unhappy  and  confused 
suspicion.  She  could  not  see,  as  she  was  above 
them,  on  the  roof  of  the  terrace. 

She  heard  nothing  but  a  murmur  of  voices,  and 
her  heart  beat  so  fast  that  she  could  actually  hear  its 
throbbing.  A  window  closed  on  the  floor  above  her. 
Servigny,  then,  must  have  just  gone  up  to  his  room. 
Her  mother  was  alone  with  the  other  man. 

A  second  flash  of  lightning,  clearing  the  sky, 
lighted  up  for  a  second  all  the  landscape  she  knew 
so  well,  with  a  startling  and  sinister  gleam,  and  she 
saw  the  great  river,  with  the  color  of  melted  lead,  as 
a  river  appears  in  dreams  in  fantastic  scenes. 

Just  then  a  voice  below  her  uttered  the  words: 
"1  love  you!"  And  she  heard  nothing  more.  A 
strange  shudder  passed  over  her  body,  and  her  soul 
shivered  in  frightful  distress.  A  heavy,  infinite  si- 
lence, which  seemed  eternal,  hung  over  the  world. 
She  could  no  longer  breathe,  her  breast  oppressed  by 
something    unknown   and    horrible.     Another   flash  of 


YVETTE  67 

lightning  illumined  space,  lighting  up  the  horizon  for 
an  instant,  then  another  almost  immediately  came, 
followed  by  still  others.  And  the  voice,  which  she 
had  already  heard,  repeated  more  loudly:  "Oh!  how 
1  love  you!  how  1  love  you!"  And  Yvette  recognized 
the  voice;  it  was  her  mother's. 

A  large  drop  of  warm  rain  fell  upon  her  brow, 
and  a  slight  and  almost  imperceptible  motion  ran 
through  the  leaves,  the  quivering  of  the  rain  which 
was  now  beginning.  Then  a  noise  came  from  afar, 
a  confused  sound,  like  that  of  the  wind  in  the 
branches:  it  was  the  deluge  descending  in  sheets  on 
earth  and  river  and  trees.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
water  poured  about  her,  covering  her,  drenching  her 
like  a  shower-bath.  She  did  not  move,  thinking 
only  of  what  was  happening  on  the  terrace. 

She  heard  them  get  up  and  go  to  their  rooms. 
Doors  were  closed  within  the  house;  and  the  young 
girl,  yielding  to  an  irresistible  desire  to  learn  what 
was  going  on,  a  desire  which  maddened  and  tortured 
her,  glided  downstairs,  softly  opened  the  outer  door, 
and,  crossing  the  lawn  under  the  furious  downpour, 
ran  and  hid  in  a  clump  of  trees,  to  look  at  the  win- 
dows. 

Only  one  window  was  lighted,  her  mother's. 
And  suddenly  two  shadows  appeared  in  the  lumi- 
nous square,  two  shadows,  side  by  side.  Then  dis- 
tracted, without  reflection,  without  knowing  what  she 
was  doing,  she  screamed  with  all  her  mi,c:ht,  in  a 
shrill  voice:  "Mamma!"  as  a  person  would  cry  out 
to  warn  people  in  danger  of  death. 

Her  desperate  cry  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  the 
rain,  but  the   couple   separated,    disturbed.     And   one 


68  WORKS   C^   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

of  the  shadows  disappeared,  while  the  other  tried  to 
discover  something,  peering  through  the  darkness  of 
the  garden. 

Fearing  to  be  surprised,  or  to  meet  her  mother  at 
that  moment,  Yvette  rushed  back  to  the  house,  ran 
upstairs,  dripping  wet,  and  shut  herself  in  her  room, 
resolved  to  open  her  door  to  no  one. 

Without  taking  off  her  streaming  dress,  which 
clung  to  her  form,  she  fell  on  her  knees,  with  clasped 
hands,  in  her  distress  imploring  some  superhuman 
protection,  the  mysterious  aid  of  Heaven,  the  unknown 
support  which  a  person  seeks  in  hours  of  tears  and 
despair. 

The  great  lightning  flashes  threw  for  an  instant 
their  livid  reflections  into  her  room,  and  she  saw  her- 
self in  the  mirror  of  her  wardrobe,  with  her  wet  and 
disheveled  hair,  looking  so  strange  that  she  did  not 
recognize  herself.  She  remained  there  so  long  that 
the  storm  abated  without  her  perceiving  it.  The  rain 
ceased,  a  light  filled  the  sky,  still  obscured  with  clouds, 
and  a  mild,  balmy,  delicious  freshness,  a  freshness  of 
grass  and  wet  leaves,  came  in  through  the  open  win- 
dow. 

Yvette  rose,  took  off  her  wet,  cold  garments, 
without  thinking  what  she  was  doing,  and  went  to 
bed.  She  stared  with  fixed  eyes  at  the  dawning 
day.  Then  she  wept  again,  and  then  she  began  to 
think. 

Her  mother!  A  lover!  What  a  shame!  She  had 
read  so  many  books  in  which  women,  even  mothers, 
had  overstepped  the  bounds  of  propriety,  to  regain 
their  honor  at  the  pages  of  the  climax,  that  she  was 
not  astonished  beyond  measure  at  finding   herself  en- 


YVETTE  69 

veloped  in  a  drama  similar  to  all  those  of  her  reading. 
The  violence  of  her  first  grief,  the  cruel  shock  of 
surprise,  had  already  worn  off  a  little,  in  the  con- 
fused remembrance  of  analogous  situations.  Her  mind 
had  rambled  among  such  tragic  adventures,  painted 
by  the  novel-writers,  that  the  horrible  discovery 
seemed,  little  by  little,  like  the  natural  continuation  of 
some  serial  story,  begun  the  evening  before. 

She  said  to  herself:  "1  will  save  my  mother." 
And  almost  reassured  by  this  heroic  resolution,  she 
felt  herself  strengthened,  ready  at  once  for  the  devo- 
tion and  the  struggle.  She  reflected  on  the  means 
which  must  be  employed.  A  single  one  seemed 
good,  which  was  quite  in  keeping  with  her  romantic 
nature.  And  she  rehearsed  the  interview  which  she 
should  have  with  the  Marquise,  as  an  actor  rehearses 
the  scene  which  he  is  going  to  play. 

The  sun  had  risen.  The  servants  were  stirring 
about  the  house.  The  chambermaid  came  with  the 
chocolate.     Yvette  put  the  tray  on  the  table  and  said: 

"You  will  say  to  my  mother  that  1  am  not  well, 
that  I  am  going  to  stay  in  bed  until  those  gentlemen 
leave,  that  1  could  not  sleep  last  night,  and  that  1  do 
not  want  to  be  disturbed  because  I  am  going  to  try 
to  rest." 

The  servant,  surprised,  looked  at  the  wet  dress, 
which  had  fallen  like  a  rag  on  the  carpet. 

"So  Mademoiselle  has  been  out?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  1  went  out  for  a  walk  in  the  rain  to  re- 
fresh myself." 

The  maid  picked  up  the  skirts,  stockings,  and  wet 
shoes;  then  she  went  away  carrying  on  her  arm, 
with   fastidious    precautions,    these   garments,    soaked 


70 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


as  the  clothes  of  a  drowned  person.  And  Yvette 
waited,  well  knowing  that  her  mother  would  come 
to  her. 

The  Marquise  entered,  having  jumped  from  her 
bed  at  the  first  words  of  the  chambermaid,  for  a 
suspicion  had  possessed  her  heart  since  that  cry: 
"Mamma!"  heard  in  the  dark. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  said. 

Yvette  looked  at  her  and  stammered:  "I  —  1 — " 
Then  ovet  powered  by  a  sudden  and  terrible  emotion, 
she  began  to  choke. 

The  Marquise,  astonished,  again  asked:  ''What 
in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

Then,  forgetting  all  her  plans  and  prepared  phrases, 
the  young  girl  hid  her  face  in  both  hands  and  stam- 
mered: 

"Oh!  mamma!     Oh!  mamma!" 

Madame  Obardi  stood  by  the  bed,  too  much  af- 
fected thoroughly  to  understand,  but  guessing  almost 
everything,  with  that  subtile  instinct  whence  she  de- 
rived her  strength.  As  Yvette  could  not  speak,  choked 
with  tears,  her  mother,  worn  out  finally  and  feeling 
some  Tearful  explanation  coming,  brusquely  asked: 

"Come,  will  you  tell  me  what  the  matter  is?" 

Yvette  could  hardly  utter  the  words:  "Oh!  last 
night — I  saw  —  your  window." 

The  Marquise,  very  pale,  said:  "Well?  what 
of  it?" 

Her  daughter  repeated,  still  sobbing:  "Oh!  mamma! 
Oh!  mamma!" 

Madame  Obardi,  whose  fear  and  embarrassment 
turned  to  anger,  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned 
to  go. 


YVHTTE 


71 


"I  really  believe  that  you  are  crazy.  When  this 
ends,  you  will  let  me  know." 

But  the  young  girl,  suddenly  took  her  hands  from 
her  face,  which  was  streaming  with  tears. 

"No,  listen,  1  must  speak  to  you,  listen.  You 
must  promise  me  —  we  must  both  go  away,  very  far 
off,  into  the  country,  and  we  must  live  like  the 
country  people;  and  no  one  must  know  what  has 
become  of  us.  Say  you  will,  mamma;  I  beg  you,  1 
implore  you;  will  you?" 

The  Marquise,  confused,  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  She  had  in  her  veins  the  irascible  blood 
of  the  common  people.  Then  a  sense  of  shame, 
a  mother's  modesty,  mingled  with  a  vague  sentiment 
of  fear  and  the  exasperation  of  a  passionate  woman 
whose  love  is  threatened,  and  she  shuddered,  ready 
to  ask  for  pardon,  or  to  yield  to  some  violence. 

"1  don't  understand  you,"  she  said. 

Yvette  replied: 

"I  saw  you,  mamma,  last  night.  You  cannot  — 
if  you  knew  —  we  will  both  go  away.  1  will  love 
you  so  much  that  you  will  forget  — " 

Madame  Obardi  said  in  a  trembling  voice:  "Lis- 
ten, my  daughter,  there  are  some  things  which  you 
do  not  yet  understand.  Well,  don't  forget  —  don't 
forget  —  that  I  forbid  you  ever  to  speak  to  me  about 
those  things." 

But  the  young  girl,  brusquely  taking  the  role  of 
savior  which  she  had  imposed  upon  herself,  re- 
joined: 

"No,  mamma,  1  am  no  longer  a  child,  and  1 
have  the  right  to  know.  1  know  that  we  receive 
persons  of  bad  repute,  adventurers,  and  I  know  that. 


72 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


on  that  account,  people  do  not  respect  us.  I  know 
more.  Well,  it  must  not  be,  any  longer,  do  you 
hear.?  I  do  not  wish  it.  We  will  go  away:  you 
will  sell  your  jewels;  we  will  work,  if  need  be,  and 
we  will  live  as  honest  women,  somewhere  very  far 
away.     And  if  I  can  marry,  so  much  the  better." 

She  answered:  "You  are  crazy.  You  will  do 
me  the  favor  to  rise  and  come  down  to  breakfast 
with  all  the  rest." 

"No,  mamma.  There  is  some  one  whom  I  shall 
never  see  again,  you  understand  me.  I  want  him  to 
leave,  or  I  shall  leave.  You  shall  choose  between 
him  and  me." 

She  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  she  raised  her 
voice,  speaking  as  they  do  on  the  stage,  playing, 
finally,  the  drama  which  she  had  dreamed,  almost 
forgetting  her  grief  in  the  effort  to  fulfill  her  mis- 
sion. 

The  Marquise,  stupefied,  again  repeated:  "You 
are  crazy  — "  not  finding  anything  else  to  say. 

Yvette  replied  with  a  theatrical  energy:  "No, 
mamma,  that  man  shall  leave  the  house,  or  I  shall  go 
myself,  for  I  will  not  weaken." 

"And  where  will  you  go?     What  will   you  do?" 

"1  do  not  know,  it  matters  little — I  want  you 
to  be  an  honest  woman." 

These  words  which  recurred,  aroused  in  the  Mar- 
quise a  perfect  fury,,  and  she  cried: 

"Be  silent.  I  do  not  permit  you  to  talk  to  me 
like  that.  1  am  as  good  as  anybody  else,  do  you 
understand  ?  1  lead  a  certain  sort  of  life,  it  is  true, 
and  I  am  proud  of  it;  the  'honest  women'  are  not 
as  good  as  I  am." 


YVETTE 


13 


Yvette,  astonished,  looked  at  her,  and  stammered: 
"Oh!    mammal" 

But  the  Marquise,  carried  away  with  excitement, 
continued: 

"Yes,  I  lead  a  certain  life  —  what  of  it?  Other- 
wise you  would  be  a  cook,  as  1  was  once,  and  earn 
thirty  sous  a  day.  You  would  be  washing  dishes, 
and  your  mistress  would  send  you  to  market  —  do 
you  understand  —  and  she  would  turn  you  out  if  you 
loitered,  just  as  you  loiter  now  because  1  am  —  be- 
cause 1  lead  this  life.  Listen.  When  a  person  is  only 
a  nursemaid,  a  poor  girl,  with  fifty  francs  saved  up, 
she  must  know  how  to  manage,  if  she  does  not  want 
to  starve  to  death;  and  there  are  not  two  ways  for 
us,  there  are  not  two  ways,  do  you  understand,  when 
we  are  servants.  We  cannot  make  our  fortune  with 
official  positions,  nor  with  stockjobbing  tricks.  We 
have  only  one  way  —  only  one  way." 

She  struck  her  breast  as  a  penitent  at  the  confes- 
sional, and  flushed  and  excited,  coming  toward  the 
bed,  she  continued:  "So  much  the  worse.  A  pretty 
girl  must  live  or  suffer  —  she  has  no  choice!"  Then 
returning  to  her  former  idea:  "Much  they  deny 
themselves,  your  '  honest  women.'  They  are  worse, 
because  nothing  compels  them.  They  have  money  to 
live  on  and  amuse  themselves,  and  they  choose 
vicious  lives  of  their  own  accord.  They  are  the  bad 
ones  in  reality." 

She  was   standing   near  the   bed   of  the  distracted 
Yvette,  who   wanted    to    cry   out  "  Help,"  to  escape. 
Yvette   wept   aloud,  like   children   who   are  whipped. 
The  Marquise  was  silent  and  looked  at  her   daughter 
and,  seeing  her  overwhelmed   with  despair,  felt,  her- 


74 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


self,  the  pangs  of  grief,  remorse,  tenderness,  and  pit3^ 
and  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed  with  open  arms, 
she  also  began  to  sob  and  stammered: 

"My  poor  little  girl,  my  poor  little  girl,  if  you 
knew  how  you  were  hurting  me."  And  they  wept 
together,  a  long  while. 

Then  the  Marquise,  in  whom  grief  could  not  long 
endure,  softly  rose,  and  gently  said: 

"Come,  darling,  it  is  unavoidable;  what  would 
you  have?  Nothing  can  be  changed  now.  We  must 
take  life  as  it  comes  to  us." 

Yvette  continued  to  weep.  The  blow  had  been 
too  harsh  and  too  unexpected  to  permit  her  to  reflect 
and  to  recover  at  once. 

Her  mother  resumed:  "Now,  get  up  and  come 
down  to  breakfast,  so  that  no  one  will  notice  any- 
thing." 

The  young  girl  shook  her  head  as  if  to  say, 
"No,"  without  being  able  to  speak.  Then  she  said, 
with  a  slow  voice  full  of  sobs: 

"No,  mamma,  you  know  what  1  said,  1  won't 
alter  my  determination.  I  shall  not  leave  my  room 
till  they  have  gone.  1  never  want  to  see  one  of  those 
people  again,  never,  never.  If  they  come  back,  you 
will  see  no  more  of  me." 

The  Marquise  had  dried  her  eyes,  and  wearied 
with  emotion,  she   murmured: 

"Come,  reflect,  be  reasonable." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  silence: 

"Yes,  you  had  better  rest  this  morning.  I  will 
come  up  to  see  you  this  afternoon."  And  having 
kissed  her  daughter  on  the  forehead,  she  went  to 
dress  herself,  already  calmed. 


YVETTE 


75 


Vvette,  as  soon  as  her  mother  had  disappeared, 
rose,  and  ran  to  bolt  the  door,  to  be  alone,  all  alone; 
then  she  began  to  think.  The  chambermaid  knocked 
about  eleven  o'clock,  and  asked  through  the  door: 

"Madame  the  Marquise  wants  to  know  if  Made- 
moiselle wishes  anything,  and  what  she  will  take  for 
her  breakfast." 

Yvette  answered:  "I  am  not  hungry,  I  only  ask 
not  to  be  disturbed." 

And  she  remained  in  bed,  just  as  if  she  had  been 
ill.  Toward  three  o^clock,  some  one  knocked  again. 
She  asked: 

"Who  is  there?" 

It  was  her  mother's  voice  which  replied:  "It  is 
I,  darling,   I  have  come  to  see  how  you  are." 

She  hesitated  what  she  should  do.  She  opened 
the  door,  and  then  went  back  to  bed.  The  Marquise 
approached,  and,  speakmg  in  low  tones,  as  people  do 
to  a  convalescent,  said: 

"Well,  are  you  better?    Won't  you  eat  an  egg?" 

"No,  thanks,  nothing  at  all." 

Madame  Obardi  sat  down  near  the  bed.  They  re- 
mained without  saying  anything,  then,  finally,  as  her 
daughter  stayed  quiet,  with  her  hands  inert  upon  the 
bedclothes,  she  asked: 

"Don't  you  intend  to  get  up?" 

Yvette  answered:    "Yes,   pretty  soon." 

Then  in  a  grave  and  slow  tone  she  said:  "I  have 
thought  a  great  deal,  mamma,  and  this  —  this  is  my 
resolution.  The  past  is  the  past,  let  us  speak  no 
more  of  it.  But  the  future  shall  be  different  or  I 
know  what  is  left  lor  me  to  do.  Now,  let  us  say 
no  more  about  it." 


^6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  Marquise,  who  thought  the  explanation  fin- 
ished, felt  her  impatience  gaining  a  little.  It  was  too 
much.  This  big  goose  of  a  girl  ought  to  have  known 
about  things  long  ago.  But  she  did  not  say  any- 
thing in  reply,  only  repeating: 

"You  are  going  to  get  up?" 

"Yes,  I  am  ready." 

Then  her  mother  became  maid  for  her,  bringing 
her  stockings,  her  corset,  and  her  skirts.  Then  she 
kissed  her. 

"Will  you  take  a  walk  before  dinner?" 

"Yes,  mamma." 

And  they  took  a  stroll  along  the  water,  speaking 
only  of  commonplace  things. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


From   Emotion  to   Philosophy 

HE  following  day,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing,  Yvette  went  out  alone  to  the 
place  where  Servigny  had  read  her 
the  history  of  the  ants.     She  said  to 
herself: 
"I    am    not   going    away  from  this 
spot  without   having  formed  a    resolu- 
tion." 
Before  her,  at  her  feet,  the  water  flowed 
rapidly,  filled    with    large    bubbles    which 
passed  in  silent  flight  with    deep   whirlings. 
^         She  already  had  summed  up  the  points  of  the 
"^         situation    and  the    means  of  extricating    herself 


from  it.  What  should  she  do  if  her  mother 
would  not  accept  the  conditions  which  she  had  im- 
posed, would  not  renounce  her  present  way  of  living, 
her  set  of  visitors  —  everything  and  go  and  hide  with 
her  in  a  distant  land? 

She  might  go  alone,  take  flight,  but  where,  and 
how?  What  would  she  live  on?  By  working?  At 
what?  To  whom  should  she  apply  to  find  work? 
And,  then,  the  dull  and  humble  life  of  working- 
women,  daughters  of  the  people,  seemed  a  little  dis- 

1    C.  deM.— J9  (77) 


';8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

graceful,  unworthy  of  her.  She  thought  of  becoming 
a  governess,  hke  young  girls  in  novels,  and  of  be- 
coming loved  by  the  son  of  the  house,  and  then 
marrying  him.  But  to  accomplish  that  she  must  have 
been  of  good  birth,  so  that,  when  the  exasperated 
father  should  approach  her  with  having  stolen  his 
son's  love,  she  might  say  in  a  proud  voice: 

"My  name  is  Yvette  Obardi." 

She  could  not  do  this.  And  then,  even  that  would 
have  been  a  trite  and  threadbare  method. 

The  convent  was  not  worth  much  more.  Be- 
sides, she  felt  no  vocation  for  a  religious  life,  having 
only  an  intermittent  and  fleeting  piety.  No  one 
would  save  her  by  marrying  her,  being  what  she 
was!  No  aid  was  acceptable  from  a  man,  no  possible 
issue,  no  definite  resource. 

And  then  she  wished  to  do  something  energetic 
and  really  great  and  strong,  which  should  serve  as  an 
example:  so  she  resolved  upon  death. 

She  decided  upon  this  step  suddenly,  but  tran- 
quilly, as  if  it  were  a  journey,  without  reflecting, 
without  looking  at  death,  without  understanding  that 
it  is  the  end  without  recommencement,  the  departure 
without  return,  the  eternal  farewell  to  earth  and  to 
this  life. 

She  immediately  settled  on  this  extreme  measure 
with  the  lightness  of  young  and  excited  souls,  and 
she  thought  of  the  means  which  she  would  emplo) 
But  they  all  seemed  to  her  painful  and  hazardous, 
and,  furthermore,  required  a  violence  of  action  which 
repelled  her. 

She  quickly  abandoned  the  poniard  and  revolver, 
which  might  wound  only,  blind  her  or  disfigure  her, 


YVETTE 


79 


and  which  demanded  a  practiced  and  steady  hand. 
She  decided  against  the  rope;  it  was  so  conimon, 
the  poor  man's  way  of  suicide,  ridiculous  and  ugly; 
and  against  water  because  she  knew  how  to  swim. 
So  poison  remained  —  but  which  i<ind  ?  Almost  all  of 
them  cause  suffering  and  incite  vomitings.  She  did 
not  want  either  of  these  things. 

Then  she  thought  of  chloroform,  having  read  in  a 
newspaper  how  a  young  woman  had  managed  to 
asphyxiate  herself  by  this  process.  And  she  felt  at 
once  a  sort  of  joy  in  her  resolution,  an  inner  pride, 
a  sensation  of  bravery.  People  should  see  what 
she  was,  and  what  she  was  worth. 

She  returned  to  Bougival  and  went  to  a  druggist, 
from  whom  she  asked  a  little  chloroform  for  a  tooth 
which  was  aching.  The  man,  who  knew  her,  gave 
her  a  tiny  bottle  of  the  narcotic. 

Then  she  set  out  on  foot  for  Croissy,  where  she 
procured  a  second  phial  of  poison.  She  obtained  a 
third  at  Chaton,  a  fourth  at  Ruril,  and  got  home  late 
for  breakfast. 

As  she  was  very  hungry  after  this  long  walk,  she 
ate  heartily  with  the  pleasurable  appetite  of  people 
who  have  taken  exercise. 

Her  mother,  happy  to  see  her  so  hungry,  and  now 
feeling  tranquil  herself,  said  to  her  as  they  left  the 
table: 

"All  our  friends  are  coming  to  spend  Sunday  with 
us.  1  have  invited  the  Prince,  the  Chevalier,  and 
Monsieur  de  Belvigne." 

Yvette  turned  a  little  pale,  but  did  not  reply.  She 
went  out  almost  immediately,  reached  the  railway 
station,  and  took  a  ticket   for   Paris.     And  during  all 


8o  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  afternoon,  she  went  from  druggist  to  druggist, 
buying  from  each  one  a  few  drops  of  chloroform. 
She  came  back  in  the  evening  with  her  pockets  full 
of  little  bottles. 

She  began  the  same  system  on  the  following  day, 
and  by  chance  found  a  chemist  who  gave  her,  at  one 
stroke,  a  quarter  of  a  liter.  She  did  not  go  out  on 
Saturday;  it  was  a  lowering  and  sultry  day;  she 
passed  it  entirely  on  the  terrace,  stretched  on  a  long 
wicker-chair. 

She  thought  of  almost  nothing,  very  resolute  and 
very  calm.  She  put  on  the  next  morning,  a  blue 
costume  which  was  very  becoming  to  her,  wishing 
to  look  well.  Then  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass, 
she  suddenly  said: 

"To-morrow,  1  shall  be  dead."  And  a  peculiar 
shudder  passed  over  her  body.  "Dead!  I  shall  speak 
no  more,  think  no  more,  no  one  will  see  me  more, 
and  I  shall  never  see  anything  again." 

And  she  gazed  attentively  at  her  countenance,  as 
if  she  had  never  observed  it,  examining  especially  her 
eyes,  discovering  a  thousand  things  in  herself,  a 
secret  character  in  her  physiognomy  which  she  had  not 
known  before,  astonished  to  see  herself,  as  if  she  had 
opposite  her  a  strange  person,  a  new  friend. 

She  said  to  herself:  "It  is  1,  in  the  mirror,  there. 
How  queer  it  is  to  look  at  oneself.  But  without 
the  mirror  we  would  never  know  ourselves.  Every- 
body else  would  know  how  we  look,  and  we  our  - 
selves  would  know  nothing." 

She  placed  the  heavy  braids  of  her  thick  hair  over 
her  breast,  following  with  her  glance  all  her  gestures, 
all  her  poses,  and  all  her  movements. 


YVET  8 1 

"How  pretty  I  am!"  she  thought.  "To-morrow 
I  shall  be  dead,  there,  upon  my  bed."  She  looked  at 
her  bed,  and  seemed  to  see  herself  stretched  out, 
white  as  the  sheets. 

Dead!  In  a  week  she  would  be  nothing  but  dust, 
to  dust  returned!  A  horrible  anguish  oppressed  ner 
heart.  The  bright  sunlight  fell  m  floods  upon  the 
fields,  and  the  soft  morning  air  came  in  at  the  win- 
dow. 

She  sat  down  thinking  of  it.  Death!  It  was  as  if 
the  world  was  going  to  disappear  from  her;  but  no, 
since  nothing  would  be  changed  in  the  world,  not 
even  her  bedroom.  Yes,  her  room  would  remain  just 
the  same,  with  the  same  bed,  the  same  chairs,  the 
same  toilette  articles,  but  she  would  be  forever  gone, 
and  no  one  would  be  sorry,  except  her  mother,  per- 
haps. 

People  would  say:  "How  pretty  she  was!  that 
little  Yvette,"  and  nothing  more.  And  as  she  looked 
at  her  arm  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  she 
thought  again,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  And 
again  a  great  shudder  of  horror  ran  over  her  whole 
body,  and  she  did  not  know  how  she  could  disappear 
without  the  whole  earth  being  blotted  out,  so  much 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  a  part  of  everything,  of 
the  fields,  of  the  air,  of  the  sunshine,  of  life  itself. 

There  were  bursts  of  laughter  in  the  garden,  a 
great  noise  of  voices  and  of  calls,  the  bustling  gaiety 
of  country  house  parties,  and  she  recognized  the  so- 
norous tones  of  M.  de  Belvigne,  singing: 

"  I  am  underneath  thy  window. 
Oh,   deign  to  show  thy  face." 


82  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  rose,  without  reflecting,  and  looked  out.  They 
all  applauded.  They  were  all  five  there,  with  two 
gentlemen  whom  she  did  not  know. 

She  brusquely  withdrew,  annoyed  by  the  thought 
that  these  men  had  come  to  amuse  themselves  at  her 
mother's  house,  as  at  a  public  place. 

The  bell  sounded  for  breakfast.  "I  will  show 
them  how  to  die,"  she  said. 

She  went  downstairs  with  a  firm  step,  with  some- 
thing of  the  resolution  of  the  Christian  martyrs  going 
into  the  circus,  where  the  lions  awaited  them. 

She  pressed  their  hands,  smiling  in  an  affable  but 
rather  haughty  manner.     Servigny  asked  her: 

"Are  you  less  cross   to-day,  Mam'zelle?" 

She  answered  in  a  severe  and  peculiar  tone:  "To- 
day, I  am  going  to  commit  follies.  I  am  in  my  Paris 
mood,  look  out!" 

Then  turning  toward  Monsieur  de  Belvigne,  she 
said : 

"You  shall  be  my  escort,  my  little  Malmsey.  I 
will  take  you  all  after  breakfast  to  the  fete  at  Marly." 

There  was,  in  fact,  a  fete  at  Marly.  They  intro- 
duced the  two  newcomers  to  her,  the  Comte  de 
Tamine  and  the  Marquis  de  Briquetot. 

During  the  meal,  she  said  nothing  further,  strength- 
ening herself  to  be  gay  in  the  afternoon,  so  that  no 
one  should  guess  anything, — so  that  they  should  be 
all  the  more  astonished,  and  should  say:  "Who 
would  have  thought  it?  She  seemed  so  happy,  so 
contented!     What  does  take   place  in  those  heads?" 

She  forced  herself  not  to  think  of  the  evening,  the 
chosen  hour,  when  they  should  all  be  upon  the  ter- 
race. 


YVETTE  83 

She  drank  as  much  wine  as  she  could  stand,  to 
nerve  herself,  and  two  little  glasses  of  brandy,  and 
she  was  flushed  as  she  left  the  table,  a  little  bewil- 
dered, heated  in  body  and  mind.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  strengthened  now,  and  resolved  for 
everything. 

"Let  us  start!"  she  cried.  She  took  Monsieur  de 
Belvigne's  arm  and  set  the  pace  for  the  others. 
"Come,  you  shall  form  my  battalion,  Servigny.  I 
choose  you  as  sergeant;  you  will  keep  outside  the 
ranks,  on  the  right.  You  will  make  the  foreign 
guard  march  in  front  —  the  two  exotics,  the  Prince, 
and  the  Chevalier — and  in  the  rear  the  two  recruits 
who  have  enlisted  to-day.     Come!" 

They  started.  And  Servigny  began  to  imitate  the 
trumpet,  while  the  two  newcomers  made  believe  to 
beat  the  drum.  Monsieur  de  Belvigne,  a  little  con- 
fused, said  in  a  low  tone: 

"Mademoiselle  Yvette,  be  reasonable,  you  will 
compromise  yourself." 

She  answered:  "It  is  you  whom  1  am  compro- 
mising, Raisine.  As  for  me,  1  don't  care  much  about 
it.  To-morrow  it  will  not  occur.  So  much  the 
worse  for  you:  you  ought  not  to  go  out  with  girls 
like  me." 

They  went  through  Bougival  to  the  amazement  of 
the  passers-by.  All  turned  to  look  at  them;  the  citi- 
zens came  to  their  doors;  the  travelers  on  the  little 
railway  which  runs  from  Ruril  to  Marly  jeered  at 
them.     The  men  on  the  platforms  cried: 

"To  the  water  with  them!" 

Yvette  marched  with  a  military  step,  holding  Bel- 
vigne by  the   arm,  as  a  prisoner  is  led.     She  did  not 


84  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

laugh;  upon  her  features  sat  a  pale  seriousness,  a  sort 
of  sinister  calm.  Servigny  interrupted  his  trumpet 
blasts  only  to  shout  orders.  The  Prince  and  the 
Chevalier  were  greatly  amused,  finding  all  this  very 
funny  and  in  good  taste.  The  two  recruits  drummed 
away  continually. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  fete,  they  made  a  sen- 
sation. Girls  applauded ;  young  men  jeered,  and  a 
stout  gentleman  with  his  wife  on  his  arm  said  envi- 
ously: "There  are  some  people  who  are  full  of  fun." 

Yvette  saw  the  wooden  horses  and  compelled 
Belvigne  to  mount  at  her  right,  while  her  squad 
scrambled  upon  the  whirling  beasts  behind.  When 
the  time  was  up  she  refused  to  dismount,  constrain- 
ing her  escort  to  take  several  more  rides  on  the  back 
of  these  children's  animals,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
public,  who  shouted  jokes  at  them.  Monsieur  de 
Belvigne  was  livid  and  dizzy  when  he  got  off. 

Then  she  began  to  wander  among  the  booths. 
She  forced  all  her  men  to  get  weighed  among  a  crowd 
of  spectators.  She  made  them  buy  ridiculous  toys 
which  they  had  to  carry  in  their  hands.  The  Prince 
and  the  Chevalier  began  to  think  the  joke  was  being 
carried  too  far.  Servigny  and  the  drummers,  alone, 
did  not  seem  to  be  discouraged. 

They  finally  came  to  the  end  of  the  place.  Then 
she  gazed  at  her  followers  in  a  peculiar  manner,  with 
a  shy  and  mischievous  glance,  and  a  strange  fancy 
came  to  her  mind.  She  drew  them  up  on  the  bank 
of  the  river. 

"Let  the  one  who  loves  me  the  most  jump  into 
the  water,"  she  said. 

Nobody    leaped.     A    mob    gathered    behind    them. 


YVETTE  85 

Women  in  white  aprons  looked  on  in  stupor.  Two 
troopers,  in  red  breeches,  laughed  loudly. 

She  repeated:  "Then  there  is  not  one  of  you 
capable  of  jumping  into  the  water  at  my  desire?" 

Servigny  murmured:  "Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  and 
leaped  feet  foremost  into  the  river.  His  plunge  cast 
a  splash  over  as  far  as  Yvette's  feet.  A  murmur  of 
astonishment  and  gaiety  arose  in  the  crowd. 

Then  the  young  girl  picked  up  from  the  ground  a 
little  piece  of  wood,  and  throwing  it  into  the  stream: 
"Fetch  it,"  she   cried. 

The  young  man  began  to  swim,  and  seizing  the 
floating  stick  in  his  mouth,  like  a  dog,  he  brought  it 
ashore,  and  then  climbing  the  bank  he  kneeled  on 
one  knee  to  present  it. 

Yvette  took  it.  "You  are  handsome,"  said  she, 
and  with  a  friendly  stroke,  she  caressed  his  hair. 

A  stout  woman  indignantly  exclaimed:  "Are 
such  things  possible!" 

Another  woman  said:  "Can  people  amuse  them- 
selves like  that!" 

A  man  remarked:  "I  would  not  take  a  plunge 
for  that  sort  of  a  girl." 

She  again  took  Belvigne's  arm,  exclaiming  in  his 
face:  "You  are  a  goose,  my  friend;  you  don't  know 
what  you  missed." 

They  now  returned.  She  cast  vexed  looks  on  the 
passers-by.  "How  stupid  all  these  people  seem," 
she  said.  Then  raising  her  eyes  to  the  countenance 
of  her  companion,  she  added:  "You,  too,  like  all  the 
rest." 

M.  de  Belvigne  bowed.  Turning  around  she  saw 
that   the  Prince   and   the  Chevalier    had    disappeared. 


86  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Servigny,  dejected  and  dripping,  ceased  playing  on 
the  trumpet,  and  walked  with  a  gloomy  air  at  the 
side  of  the  two  wearied  young  men,  who  also  had 
stopped  the  drum  playing.  She  began  to  laugh  dryly, 
saying: 

"You  seem  to  have  had  enough;  nevertheless,  that 
is  what  you  call  having  a  good  time,  isn't  it?  You 
came  for  that;  I  have  given  you  your  money's 
worth." 

Then  she  walked  on,  saying  nothing  further;  and 
suddenly  Belvigne  perceived  that  she  was  weeping. 
Astounded,  he  inquired: 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

She  murmured:  "Let  me  alone,  it  does  not  con- 
cern you." 

But  he  insisted,  like  a  fool:  "Oh,  Mademoiselle, 
come,  what  is  the  matter,  has  anyone  annoyed  you?" 

She  repeated  impatiently:     "Will  you  keep  still?" 

Then  suddenly,  no  longer  able  to  resist  the  de- 
spairing sorrow  which  drowned  her  heart,  she  began 
to  sob  so  violently,  that  she  could  no  longer  walk. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  panting  for 
breath,  choked  by  the  violence  of  her  despair. 

Belvigne  stood  still  at  her  side,  quite  bewildered, 
repeating:     "I  don't  understand  this  at  all." 

But  Servigny  brusquely  came  forward:  "Let  us 
go  home,  Mam'zelle,  so  that  people  may  not  see  you 
weeping  in  the  street.  Why  do  you  perpetrate  fol- 
lies like  that  when  they  only  make  you   sad?" 

And  taking  her  arm  he  drew  her  forward.  But  as 
soon  as  they  reached  the  iron  gate  of  the  villa  she 
began  to  run,  crossed  the  garden,  and  went  upstairs, 
and  shut  herself  in  her  room. 


YVETTE 


87 


She  did  not  appear  again  until  the  dinner  hour, 
very  pale  and  serious.  Servigny  had  bought  from  a 
country  storekeeper  a  workingman's  costume,  with 
velvet  pantaloons,  a  flowered  waistcoat  and  a  blouse, 
and  he  adopted  the  local  dialect.  Yvette  was  in  a 
hurry  for  them  to  finish,  feeling  her  courage  ebbing. 
As  soon  as  the  coffee  was  served  she  went  to  her 
room  again. 

She  heard  the  merry  voices  beneath  her  window. 
The  Chevalier  was  making  equivocal  jokes,  foreign 
witticisms,  vulgar  and  clumsy.  She  listened,  in  de- 
spair. Servigny,  just  a  bit  tipsy,  was  imitating 
the  common  workingman,  calling  the  Marquise  "the 
Missus."  And  all  of  a  sudden  he  said  to  Saval: 
"Well,  Boss.?"     That  caused  a  general  laugh. 

Then  Yvette  decided.  She  first  took  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  wrote: 

"  BouGiVAL,  Sunday,  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
"  I  die  so  that  I  may  not  become  a  l<ept  woman. 

"Yvette." 

Then  in  a  postscript: 

"Adieu,  my  dear  mother,  pardon." 

She  sealed  the  envelope,  and  addressed  it  to  the 
Marquise  Obardi. 

Then  she  rolled  her  long  chair  near  the  window, 
drew  a  little  table  within  reach  of  her  hand,  and 
placed  upon  it  the  big  bottle  of  chloroform  beside  a 
handful  of  wadding. 

A  great  rose-tree  covered  with  flowers,  climbing 
as  high  as  her  window,   exhaled  in  the   night  a  soft 


88  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

and  gentle  perfume,  in  light  breaths;  and  she  stood 
for  a  moment  enjoying  it.  The  moon,  in  its  first 
quarter,  was  floating  in  the  dark  sky,  a  little  ragged 
at  the  left,  and  veiled  at  times  by  slight  mists. 

Yvette  thought:  "I  am  going  to  die!"  And  her 
heart,  swollen  with  sobs,  nearly  bursting,  almost  suf- 
focated her.  She  felt  in  her  a  need  of  asking  mercy 
from  some  one,  of  being  saved,  of  being  loved. 

The  voice  of  Servigny  aroused  her.  He  was  tell- 
mg  an  improper  story,  which  was  constantly  inter- 
rupted by  bursts  of  laughter.  The  Marquise  herself 
laughed  louder  than  the  others. 

"There  is  nobody  like  him  for  telling  that  sort  of 
thing,"  she  said,  laughing. 

Yvette  took  the  bottle,  uncorked  it,  and  poured  a 
little  of  the  liquid  on  the  cotton.  A  strong,  sweet, 
strange  odor  arose;  and  as  she  brought  the  piece  of 
cotton  to  her  lips,  the  fumes  entered  her  throat  and 
made  her  cough. 

Then  shutting  her  mouth,  she  began  to  inhale  it. 
She  took  in  long  breaths  of  this  deadly  vapor,  closing 
her  eyes,  and  forcing  herself  to  stifle  in  her  mind  all 
thoughts,  so  that  she  might  not  reflect,  that  she 
might  know  nothing  more. 

It  seemed  to  her  at  first  that  her  chest  was  grow- 
ing larger,  was  expanding,  and  that  her  soul,  re- 
cently heavy  and  burdened  with  grief,  was  becoming 
light,  light,  as  if  the  weight  which  overwhelmed  her 
was  lifted,  wafted  away.  Something  lively  and 
agreeable  penetrated  even  to  the  extremities  of  hei 
limbs,  even  to  the  tips  of  her  toes  and  fingers  and 
entered  her  flesh,  a  sort  of  dreamy  intoxication,  of 
soft  fever. 


YVETTE 


89 


She  sav'  that  the  cotton  was  dry,  and  she  was 
astonished  that  she  was  not  already  dead  Her  senses 
seemed  more  acute,  more  subtle,  more  alert.  She 
heard  the  lowest  whisper  on  the  terrace.  Prince 
Kravalow  was  telling  how  he  had  killed  an  Austrian 
general  in  a  duel. 

Then,  further  off,  in  the  fields,  she  heard  the  noise 
of  the  night,  the  occasional  barkings  of  a  dog,  the 
short  cry  of  the  frogs,  the  almost  imperceptible  rust- 
ling of  the  leaves. 

She  took  the  bottle  again,  and  saturated  once 
more  the  little  piece  of  wadding;  then  she  began  to 
breathe  in  the  fumes  again.  For  a  few  moments 
she  felt  nothing;  then  that  soft  and  soothing  feeling 
of  comfort  which  she  had  experienced  before  envel- 
oped her. 

Twice  she  poured  more  chloroform  upon  the 
cotton,  eager  now  for  that  physical  and  mental  sen- 
sation, that  dreamy  torpor,  which  bewildered  her 
soul. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  no  more  bones, 
flesh,  legs,  or  arms.  The  drug  had  gently  taken  all 
these  away  from  her,  without  her  perceiving  it.  The 
chloroform  had  drawn  away  her  body,  leaving  her 
only  her  mind,  more  awakened,  more  active,  larger 
and  more  free  than  she  had  ever  felt  it. 

She  recalled  a  thousand  forgotten  things,  little  dc 
tails  of  her  childhood,  trifles  which  had  given  her 
pleasure.  Endowed  suddenly  with  an  awakened  agil- 
ity, her  mind  leaped  to  the  most  diverse  ideas,  ran 
through  a  thousand  adventures,  wandered  in  the  past, 
and  lost  itself  in  the  hoped-for  events  of  the  future. 
And  her  lively  and  careless  thoughts  had    a   sensuous 


90 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


charm:  she  experienced  a  divine  pleasure  in  dream- 
ing thus. 

She  still  heard  the  voices,  but  she  could  no  longer 
distinguish  the  words,  which  to  her  seemed  to  have  a 
different  meaning.  She  was  in  a  kind  of  strange  and 
changing  fairyland. 

She  was  on  a  great  boat  which  floated  through  a 
beautiful  country,  all  covered  with  flowers.  She  saw 
people  on  the  shore,  and  these  people  spoke  very 
loudly;  then  she  was  again  on  land,  without  asking 
how,  and  Servigny,  clad  as  a  prince,  came  to  seek 
her,  to  take  her  to  a  bull-fight. 

The  streets  were  filled  with  passers-by,  who  were 
talking,  and  she  heard  conversations  which  did  not 
astonish  her,  as  if  she  had  known  the  people,  for 
through  her  dreamy  intoxication,  she  still  heard  her 
mother's  friends  laughing  and  talking  on  the  ter- 
race. 

Then  everything  became  vague.  Then  she  awak- 
ened, deliciously  benumbed,  and  she  could  hardly  re- 
member what  had  happened. 

So,  she  was  not  yet  dead.  But  she  felt  so  calm, 
in  such  a  state  of  physical  comfort,  that  she  was  not 
in  haste  to  finish  with  it  —  she  wanted  to  make  this 
exquisite  drowsiness  last  forever. 

She  breathed  slowly  and  looked  at  the  moon,  op- 
posite her,  above  the  trees.  Something  had  changed 
in  her  spirit.  She  no  longer  thought  as  she  had 
done  just  now.  The  chloroform  quieting  her  body 
and  her  soul  had  calmed  her  grief  and  lulled  her  de- 
sire to   die. 

Why  should  she  not  live  ?  Why  should  she  not 
be   loved  .^    Why  should   she   not  lead   a   happy  lile? 


YVETTE  ^'i 

Everything  appeared  possible  to  her  now,  and  easy 
and  certain.  Everything  in  life  was  sweet,  everything 
was  charming  But  as  she  wished  to  dream  on  still, 
she  poured  more  of  the  dream-water  on  the  cotton 
and  began  to  breathe  it  in  again,  stopping  at  times, 
so  as  not  to  absorb  too  much  of  it  and  die. 

She  looked  at  the  moon  and  saw  in  it  a  face,  a 
woman's  face.  She  began  to  scorn  the  country  in 
the  fanciful  intoxication  of  the  drug.  That  face 
swung  in  the  sky;  then  it  sang,  it  sang  with  a  well- 
known  voice  the  alleluia  of  love. 

It  was  the  Marquise,  who  had  come  in  and  seated 
herself  at  the  piano. 

Yvette  had  wings  now.  She  was  flying  through 
a  clear  night,  above  the  wood  and  streams.  She 
was  flying  with  delight,  opening  and  closing  her 
wings,  borne  by  the  wind  as  by  a  caress.  She 
moved  in  the  air,  which  kissed  her  skin,  and  she 
went  so  fast,  so  fast,  that  she  had  no  time  to  see 
anything  beneath  her,  and  she  found  herself  seated 
on  the  bank  of  a  pond  with  a  line  in  her  hand;  she 
was  fishing. 

Something  pulled  on  the  cord,  and  when  she  drew 
it  out  of  the  water,  it  bore  a  magnificent  pearl  neck- 
lace, which  she  had  longed  for  some  time  ago.  She 
was  not  at  all  astonished  at  this  deed,  and  she 
looked  at  Servigny,  who  had  come  to  her  side  — 
she  knew  not  how.  He  was  fishing  also,  and  drew 
out  of  the  river  a  wooden  horse. 

Then  she  had  anew  the  feeling  of  awaking,  and 
she  heard  some  one  calling  down  stairs  Her  mother 
had  said: 

"Put  out  the  candle." 


Q2  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Then  Servigny's  voice  rose,  clear  and  jesting: 

"Put  out  your  candle,  Mam'zelle  Yvette." 

And  all  took  up  the  chorus:  "Mam'zelle  Yvette, 
put  out  your  candle." 

She  again  poured  chloroform  on  the  cotton,  but, 
as  she  did  not  want  to  die,  she  placed  it  far  enough 
from  her  face  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  while  never- 
theless her  room  was  filled  with  the  asphyxiating 
odor  of  the  narcotic,  for  she  knew  that  some  one 
was  coming,  and  taking  a  suitable  posture,  a  pose  of 
the  dead,  she  waited. 

The  Marquise  said:  "1  am  a  little  uneasy!  That 
foolish  child  has  gone  to  sleep  leaving  the  light  on 
her  table.  I  will  send  Clemence  to  put  it  out,  and  to 
shut  the  balcony  window,  which  is  wide  open." 

And  soon  the  maid  rapped  on  the  door  calling: 
"Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle!"  After  a  moment's 
silence,  she  repeated:  "Mademoiselle,  Madame  the 
Marquise  begs  you  to  put  out  your  candle  and  shut 
the  window." 

Clemence  waited  a  little,  then  knocked  louder,  and 
cried: 

"  Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle!  " 

As  Yvette  did  not  reply,  the  servant  went  away 
and  reported  to  the  Marquise: 

"Mademoiselle  must  have  gone  to  sleep,  her  door 
is  bolted,  and  I  could  not  awaken  her." 

Madame  Obardi  murmured: 

"But  she  must  not  stay  like  that." 

Then,  at  the  suggestion  of  Servigny,  they  all  gath- 
ered under  the  window,  shouting  in  chorus: 

"Hip!  hip!  hurrah!  Mam'zelle  Yvette." 

Their  clamor  rose  in   the   calm  night,  through  the 


YVETTE 


95 


transparent  air  beneath  the  moon,  over  the  sleeping 
country;  and  they  heard  it  die  away  in  the  distance 
like  the  sound  of  a  disappearing  train. 

As  Yvette  did  not  answer  the  Marquise  said:  "I 
only  hope  that  nothing  has  happened.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  be  afraid." 

Then  Servigny,  plucking  red  roses  from  a  big  rose- 
bush trained  along  the  wall  and  buds  not  yet  opened, 
began  to  throw  them  into  the  room  through  the 
window. 

At  ihe  first  rose  that  fell  at  her  side,  Yvette  started 
and  almost  cried  out.  Others  fell  upon  her  dress, 
others  upon  her  hair,  while  others  going  over  her 
head  fell  upon  the  bed,  covermg  it  with  a  rain  of 
flowers. 

The  Marquise,  in  a  choking  voice,  cried:  "Come, 
Yvette,  answer." 

Then  Servigny  declared:  "Truly  this  is  not  nat- 
ural; 1  am  going  to  climb  up  by  the  balcony." 

But  the  Chevalier  grew  indignant. 

"Now, let  me  do  it,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  great  favor 
I  ask;  it  is  too  good  a  means,  and  too  good  a  time 
to  obtain  a  rendezvous." 

All  the  rest,  who  thought  the  young  girl  was 
joking,  cried:  "We  protest!  He  shall  not  climb 
up." 

But  the  Marquise,  disturbed,  repeated:  "And  yet 
some  one  must  go  and  see." 

The  Prince  exclaimed  with  a  dramatic  gesture: 

"She  favors  the  Duke,  we  are  betrayed." 

"Let  us  toss  a  coin  to  see  who  shall  go  up," 
said  the  Chevalier.  He  took  a  five-franc  piece  from 
his  pocket,  and  began  with  the  Prince. 

7    G.  de  M.— ao 


^4  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

'•Tail,"  said  he.     It  was  head. 

The  Prince  tossed  the  coin  in  his  turn  saying  to 
Saval:  "Call,  Monsieur." 

Saval  called  "Head."     It  was  tail. 

The  Prince  then  gave  all  the  others  a  chance,  and 
they  all  lost. 

Servigny,  who  was  standing  opposite  him,  ex- 
claimed in  his  insolent  way:  "  Parbleuf  he  is  cheat- 
ing!" 

The  Russian  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  held 
out  the  gold  piece  to  his  rival,  saying:  "Toss  it 
yourself,  my  dear  Duke." 

Servigny  took  it  and  spinning  it  up,  said:  "Head." 
It  was  tail. 

He  bowed  and  pointing  to  the  pillar  of  the  bal- 
cony said:  "Climb  up.  Prince."  But  the  Prince 
looked  about  him  with  a  disturbed  air. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?"  asked  the  Chev- 
alier. 

"Well, —  I  —  would  —  like  —  a  ladder."  A  general 
laugh  followed. 

Saval,  advancing,  said:    "We  will  help  you." 

He  lifted  him  in  his  arms,  as  strong  as  those  of 
Hercules,  telling  him: 

"Now  climb  to  that  balcony." 

The  Prince  immediately  clung  to  it,  and  Saval 
letting  him  go,  he  swung  there,  suspended  in  the  air, 
moving  his  legs  in  empty  space. 

Then  Servigny,  seeing  his  struggling  legs  which 
sought  a  resting  place,  pulled  them  downward  with 
all  his  strength;  the  hands  lost  their  grip  and  the 
Prince  fell  in  a  heap  on  Monsieur  de  Belvigne,  who 
was  coming  to  aid  him. 


YVETTE  95 

"Whose  turn  next?"  asked  Servigny.  No  one 
claimed  the  privilege. 

"Come,   Belvigne,  courage!" 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  boy,  I  am  thinking  ot  my 
bones." 

"Come,  Chevalier,  you  must  be  used  to  scalmg 
walls." 

"1  give  my  place  to  you,  my  dear  Duke." 

"Ha,  ha,  that  is  just  what  1  expected." 

Servigny,  with  a  keen  eye,  turned  to  the  pillar. 
Then  with  a  leap,  clinging  to  the  balcony,  he  drew 
himself  up  like  a  gymnast  and  climbed  over  the 
balustrade. 

All  the  spectators,  gazing  at  him,  applauded.  But 
he  immediately  reappeared,  calling: 

"Come,  quick!  Come,  quick!  Yvette  is  uncon- 
scious." The  Marquise  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  rushed 
for  the  stairs. 

The  young  girl,  her  eyes  closed,  pretended  to  be 
dead.  Her  mother  entered  distracted,  and  threw  her- 
self upon  her. 

"Tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  her.  what  is 
the  matter  with  her?" 

Servigny  picked  up  the  bottle  of  chloroform  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  floor. 

"She  has  drugged  herself,"  said  he. 

He  placed  his  ear  to  her  heart;  then  he  added: 

"But  she  is  not  dead;  we  can  resuscitate  her. 
Have  you  any  ammonia?" 

The  maid,  bewildered,  repeated:  "Any  what,  Mon- 
sieur?" 

"Any  smelling-salts." 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 


gt  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Bring  them  at  once,  and  leave  the  door  open  to 
make  a  draft  of  air." 

The  Marquise,  on  her  knees,  was  sobbing:  "  YvetteJ 
Yvette,  my  daughter,  my  daughter,  listen,  answer 
me,  Yvette,  my  child.  Oh,  my  God!  my  God!  what 
has  she  done?  " 

The  men,  frightened,  moved  about  without  speak- 
ing, bringing  water,  towels,  glasses,  and  vinegar. 
Some  one  said:  "She  ought  to  be  undressed."  And 
the  Marquise,  who  had  lost  her  head,  tried  to  un- 
dress her  daughter;  but  did  not  know  what  she  was 
doing.  Her  hands  trembled  and  faltered,  and  she 
groaned: 

"I  cannot, —  1  cannot  —  " 

The  maid  had  come  back  bringing  a  druggist's 
bottle  which  Servigny  opened  and  from  which  he 
poured  out  half  upon  a  handkerchief.  Then  he  ap- 
plied it  to  Yvette's  nose,  causing  her  to  choke. 

"Good,  she  breathes,"  said  he.  "It  will  be  noth- 
ing." 

And  he  bathed  her  temples,  cheeks,  and  neck  with 
the  pungent  liquid. 

Then  he  made  a  sign  to  the  maid  to  unlace  the 
girl,  and  when  she  had  nothing  more  on  than  a  skirl 
over  her  chemise,  he  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  car- 
ried her  to  the  bed,  quivering,  moved  by  the  odor 
and  contact  of  her  flesh.  Then  she  was  placed  in 
bed.     He  arose  very  pale. 

"She  will  come  to  herself,"  he  said,  "it  is  noth- 
ing." For  he  had  heard  her  breathe  in  a  continuous 
and  regular  way.  But  seeing  all  the  men  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  Yvette  in  bed,  he  was  seized  with  a 
jealous  irritation,  and  advanced  toward  them. 


YVETTE 


97 


"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "there  are  too  many  of  us 
in  this  room;  be  kind  enough  to  leave  us  alone, — 
Monsieur  Saval  and  me  —  with  the  Marquise." 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  which  was  dry  and  full  of 
authority. 

Madame  Obardi  had  grasped  her  lover,  and  with 
her  head  uplifted  toward  him  she  cried  to  him : 

"Save  her,  oh,  save  her!" 

But  Servigny  turning  around  saw  a  letter  on  the 
table.  He  seized  it  with  a  rapid  movement,  and 
read  the  address.  He  understood  and  thought:  "Per- 
haps it  would  be  better  if  the  Marquise  should  not 
know  of  this,"  and  tearing  open  the  envelope,  he  de- 
voured at  a  glance  the  two  lines  it  contained: 

"I  die  so  that  I  may  not  become  a  kept  woman. 

"  YVETTE, 

"Adieu,  my  dear  mother,  pardon." 

"The  devil!"  he  thought,  "this  calls  for  reflec- 
tion."    And  he  hid  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

Then  he  approached  the  bed,  and  immediately  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  the  young  girl  had  re- 
gained consciousness  but  that  she  dared  not  show  it, 
from  shame,  from  humiliation,  and  from  fear  of  ques- 
tioning. The  Marquise  had  fallen  on  her  knees  now. 
and  was  weeping,  her  head  on  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
Suddenly  she  exclaimed: 

"A  doctor,  we  must  have  a  doctor!" 

But  Servigny,  who  had  just  said  something  in  a 
low  tone  to  Saval,  replied  to  her:  "No,  it  is  all 
over.  Come,  go  out  a  minute,  just  a  minute,  and 
I  promise  you  that  she  will  kiss  you  when  you 
come  back." 


^  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  the  Baron,  taking  Madame  Obardi  by  the 
arm,  led  her  from  the  room. 

Then  Servigny,  sitting  by  the  bed,  took  Yvette's 
hand  and  said:     "  Mam'zelie,  listen  to  me." 

She  did  not  answer.  She  felt  so  well,  so  soft 
and  warm  in  bed,  that  she  would  have  liked  never 
to  move,  never  to  speak,  and  to  live  like  that  for- 
ever. An  infinite  comfort  had  encompassed  her,  a 
comfort  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  experi- 
enced. 

The  mild  night  air  coming  in  by  velvety  breaths 
touched  her  temples  in  an  exquisite  almost  imper- 
ceptible way.  It  was  a  caress  like  a  kiss  of  the 
wind,  like  the  soft  and  refreshing  breath  of  a  fan 
made  of  all  the  leaves  of  the  trees  and  of  all  the 
shadows  of  the  night,  of  the  mist  of  rivers,  and  of 
all  the  flowers  too,  for  the  roses  tossed  up  from  be- 
low into  her  room  and  upon  her  bed,  and  the  roses 
climbing  at  her  balcony,  mingled  their  heavy  per- 
fume with  the  healthful   savor  of  the  evening  breeze. 

She  drank  in  this  air  which  was  so  good,  her 
eyes  closed,  her  heart  reposing  in  the  yet  pervading 
intoxication  of  the  drug,  and  she  had  no  longer  at 
all  the  desire  to  die,  but  a  strong,  imperious  wish  to 
live,  to  be  happy  —  no  matter  how — to  be  loved,  yes, 
to  be  loved. 

Servigny  repeated:  "Mam'zelie  Yvette,  listen  to 
me." 

And  she  decided  to   open  her  eyes. 

He  continued,  as  he  saw  her  reviving:  "Gomel 
Come!  what  does  this  nonsense  mean?" 

She  murmured:  "My  poor  Muscade,  I  was  so  un- 
happy." 


YVETTE 


99 


He  squeezed  her  hand:  "And  that  led  you  into  a 
pretty  scrape!  Come,  you  must  promise  me  not  to 
try  it  again." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  nodded  her  head  slightly 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  smile.  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  letter  which  he  had  found  on  the 
table : 

"Had  1  better  show  this  to  your  mother?" 

She  shook  her  head,  no.  He  knew  not  what 
more  to  say  for  the  situation  seemed  to  him  without 
an  outlet.     So  he  murmured: 

"My  dear  child,  everyone  has  hard  things  to  bear. 
I  understand  your  sorrow  and  I  promise  you  — " 

She  stammered:     "You   are  good." 

They  were  silent.  He  looked  at  her.  She  had  in 
her  glance  something  of  tenderness,  of  weakness; 
and  suddenly  she  raised  both  her  arms,  as  if  she 
would  draw  him  to  her;  he  bent  over  her,  feeling 
that  she  called  him,  and  their  lips  met. 

For  a  long  time  they  remained  thus,  their  eyes 
closed. 

But,  knowing  that  he  would  lose  his  head,  hr 
drew  away.  She  smiled  at  him  now,  most  tenderly 
and,  with  both  her  hands  clinging  to  his  shoulders, 
she  held  him. 

"I  am  going  to  call  your  mother,"  he  said. 

She  murmured:  "Just  a  second  more.  1  am  so 
happy." 

Then  after  a  silence,  she  said  in  a  tone  so  low  that 
it  could  scarcely  be  heard:  "Will  you  love  me  very 
much  ?    Tell  me!" 

He  kneeled  beside  her  bed,  and  kissing  the  hand 
she  had  given  him,  said:     "I  adore  you  " 


joo  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

But  some  one  was  walking  near  the  door.  He 
arose  with  a  bound,  and  called  in  his  ordinary  voice, 
which  seemed  nevertheless  a  little  ironical:  "You 
may  come  in.     It  is  all  right  now." 

The  Marquise  threw  herself  on  her  daughter,  with 
both  arms  open,  and  clasped  her  frantically,  covering 
her  countenance  with  tears,  while  Servigny  with  ra- 
diant soul  and  quivermg  body  went  out  upon  the  bal- 
cony to  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the  night,  humming 
to  himself  the  old   couplet: 

"A  woman  changeth  oft  her  mind: 
Yet  fools  still  trust  in  womankind." 


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